Tales from the Alhambra

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COPYRIGHT, I9IO, BY JOSEPHINE BROWER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published November iqio

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Contmte

Introduction xi

Legend of the Arabian Astrologer i

Legend of Prince Ahmed al Kamel 29

Legend of the Moor's Legacy 85
Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses 121

Legend of the Rose of the Alhambra 163

Legend of the Two Discreet Statues 189

Jttmivaiione

FROM DRAWINGS IN COLOUR
BY C. E. BROCK

Legend of the Arabian Astrologer (p. 15)

Frontispiece ^
" Beware, O king ! " whispered Ibrahim.

Legend of Prince Ahmed al Kamel . .82'^

The carpet rose in the air, bearing off the
prince and princess

Legend of the Moor's Legacy .... 108-
They fancied they heard a noise from above

Legend of the Three Beautiful Princesses 136

The princesses crowded round him, and im-
plored mercy for the prisoners

Legend of the Rose of the Alhambra . 172^

He seized her hand, and imprinted on it
a kiss

Legend of the Two Discreet Statues . 210

Was ever such a trick played upon a holy
friar ?

Jnixo^uction

HERE is a promontory in the
southwest corner of Europe
which rises from the sea on one
side and a once unknown ocean
on the other, cliff above cliff, hill above hill,
mountain above mountain. About its shores
in Queen Dido's time prowled the high-
beaked ships of Carthage hungry for trade.
Curiously their wily captains scanned the
mountain paths leading from inaccessible de-
files down which, in order to traffic on the
sea-beach, came tall, bold-featured Iberians.
Having finished bargaining, the savages dis-
trustfully turned away, remounted the stony
trails, to melt into the mists that crowned
their vast and gloomy tableland. What was
it like up there, the Phoenician trader won-
dered ?

xi

3n<trobuction

Years afterwards, when Carthaginian gen-
erals had crushed many a hardy and liberty-
loving race, the Phoenicians wondered still
more. For the taciturn Iberians silently
withdrew from every attempt at conquest.
Up within those melancholy mountains, no-
body knew how, a race of men lived who
could not be enslaved.

One thing the old-world empires did
know, however. Out of that unknown in-
terior four great rivers wore their way west-
ward into the Atlantic, and, as they fell
toward the beach, they washed down gold.
And it was the rumour of this gold that
called those sailing kites of wealth, Carthage,
Greece, Rome, the Goths, who make the first
chapters of Spanish history. Each of these
nations, in turn, conquered the green strip
of Spanish shore. Not any one of them
entered the guarded heart of Spain. Her in-
vincible mountain-rampart rolled back the
invaders as the cliffs rolled back the sea,
xii

3ntxobuctxon

while, from above, the ancient Iberians
looked down in unconquerable manhood,
silent, melancholy, honourable.

By and by a fifth invasion came like light-
ning. Out of North Africa, across the straits,
rushing up and over the mountain barriers
that had kept out the great races before
them, came the desert-born Moors ! They
came like wild-fire, scorching, blinding, and
driving before them the old Iberian race until
they hemmed it into the little northwest cor-
ner where afterwards Castile and North
Portugal were outlined. There they passed
it by for a time, while they poured through
the defiles of the Pyrenees and streamed
down into the green plains of France. The
white barbs of the Moorish desert disdained
to tread on Prankish soil, and, as they poised
their dainty feet in air, the smooth steel caps
of the riders with their quivering spikes and
floating green veils caught the sunlight and
shimmered it away. Like a sea-tide the green
xiii

3n(xob\xctxon

and glancing Moslem host rolled into the
history of Europe.

In its path waited a forlorn army. Frag-
ments and remnants of the broken Roman
empire had gathered together, dreary and
desperate, for a last stand. Before them
loomed one colossus, Charles the Sledge-
Hammer, that day the saviour of a continent.
It was on the plain of Tours in the year 732
that they fought one of the greatest battles
of the world. Darkness and despair led by
Charles the Sledge-Hammer broke and shat-
tered the Moorish array. Abdurrahman was
killed, and slowly and sullenly the Moors
receded southward again.

And now begins the romance of Spain.
The Moors had come back to stay. They
built beautiful cities, graceful palaces, and
barren old Spain began to blossom like a
garden. Famous universities arose here and
there. Music, poetry, literature, flourished
under the kindly smile of the Khalifs. But

xiv

Untxobuctxon

behind this smile of peace the spirit of Iberia
was gathering itself together up there among
the mountains of Castile. The name Castile
comes from the chain of castles which the
hunted Spaniards had hung from cliff to cliff
around their forbidding refuge. As soon as
the Moors began to busy themselves in other
ways than fighting, the gaunt Castilian
knights began to let down their drawbridges.
One day, when everything was ready, they
rode forth followed by their men at arms,
their priests blessing them as they went, their
anxious ladies fluttering scarfs from the
battlements and calling '' God-speed, God-
speed! " For they were going to fight against
the infidels whose religion was a worse crime
than their conquest. The old Castilian be-
lieved in the right of the strong to take what
he could, but he never could be made to see
that a man had the right to worship God ac-
cording to his own conscience. Step by step
the unconquerable Iberian stubbornness won

XV

3ntxobuctxon

back its country. At last, in the very same
year when Columbus sailed for the discovery
of the new world, the day came when Boab-
dil, with a handful of lamenting Moors, sur-
rendered the last jewel of their kingdom, the
most wonderful palace in the world. The
Alhambra, and left forever the shores of
Spain.

But the spirit of the Moor never has dis-
appeared from Spain. Still he rules the Sierra
Morena and haunts every watercourse of
Andalusia. To this day, after nightfall,
Spain is no Christian kingdom, but is ruled
over by the Khalif. The Spanish peasant who
lingers too late on the mountain roads, bring-
ing down snow or wood to cool the water or
build the fire of the Spanish city-dwellers,
runs the risk of being overtaken and caught
up by some phantom cavalcade, and swept
away with them into their caverns deep un-
der the mountains. There they sleep an en-
chanted slumber by day, and with the night
xvi

Sntxohuctxon

come forth to resume their ancient realm.
And all this is why Spain is the most romantic
country of Europe ; the genius of her Moorish
conqueror enchanted her even while she
drove him out.

The genius of the Moor enchanted her !
She was ignorant. The Moor was skilled in
every science known to that time. She could
build just rude castles, and she loved the
slender minarets and the swelling domes of
Moorish mosque and palace. She could not
help contrasting her dull grey stone walls
with the glowing richness of Moorish stucco
work, and her heart was wrung when she
contrasted her rude war songs, her harsh
trumpet notes, her massive religious chants,
with the languorous and passionate music
and poetry of her invader, his clashing cym-
bals, quiver of strings, the soft notes of the
flageolet. The pride of the Castilian noble,
accentuated by his honourable poverty, and
his high-souled struggle for independence,
xvii

Sntxobuctxon

was shamed by the oriental grace, the Epi-
curean serenity and courtliness of the benign
Moslems. Lastly, his imagination took fire
at some matchless stories that have held the
world spellbound ever since the Spaniard
retold them.

It is this union of the stern spirit of old
Iberia with the rich imagination of the Moors
which makes old Spanish stories about the
finest ever told. They tell of the honour and
the dignity and the pride of the Castilian fight-
ing noble matched by an urbane and chival-
rous foe. They display the glow and luxuriance
of the most flexible of the tropic races side
by side with the desolate sadness that broods
over those barren and sun-scorched plains,
whose solitudes to this day are dotted here
and there only by a few taciturn herdsmen.
Their plots are full of the mystery and fire
of the Arabian Nights, full of castles with
secret passages, mountains with subterra-
nean caverns, beautiful ladies shut up in
xviii

3n(xdbMCtxon

towers, music coming from no one knows
where, mysterious physicians who practise
magic, proud young cavaliers in velvet
cloaks, their swords sticking briskly out be-
neath, incomparable seiioritas throwing roses
from moonlit balconies whose arabesques
form tantalizing screens to their beauty,
hard-hearted fathers becoming suddenly
soft-hearted at the end of the story, and
blessing runaway children. In other words
these stories carry us where so many great
conquerors of Spain could not fight their way,
that is, into the dreaming heart of Spain.

A good many years ago, one of our coun-
trymen travelled into this enchanted country
on a sober errand of historical research. He
was getting ready to write the life of the
man who discovered America. It was this
fortunate project which enabled him, four
hundred years after Spain discovered Amer-
ica, to bring it about that America discovered
Spain.

xix

Sntxo^uctxon

Washington Irving went to Spain in 1826.
He was on a seventeen year visit to Europe.
He had been in England, France, Germany,
and Italy, and each country of them, espe-
cially England where he stayed the longest,
made him think and write about his own
country. But when he found himself across
the Pyrenees, — for the first time, he lost him-
self in a country which has suffered less from
change than has any other country of Eu-
rope. From the hour that he entered Spain
until the end of his life Washington Irving
was haunted by Moorish Iberia. It is to this
that we owe a richness of style, a romantic
feeling for the superb, which, but for Spain,
the " Father of American Literature " would
have lacked.

Some of the time Irving lived at court in
Madrid, but best of all he loved the time he
spent at Granada in the summer palace of
the Moors. There he wandered by sunlight
and by moonlight through the flower-scented

XX

Sntxobuctxon

courts, listening to the tinkle of water as it
ran unceasingly through the deserted corri-
dors into marble basin and tessellated reser-
voir. And there, on the very spot where it
reached its glory, he recreated the strangest,
most gifted, most unreal monarchy that ever
reared its fabric for a time in Europe.

More pedantic critics than we may smile
at Irving's gifts as a scholarly historian, but
we who know that the highest and sweetest
wisdom in every race finds expression in its
legends will see to it that every generation
of children in America shall be familiar with
traditions as heroic and brilliant as any ever
created.

The author of this arrangement of Irving's
Alhambra stories loved these stories when
she was a child, but was troubled by the
necessity of hunting them out from their
context. Therefore with rare and happy tact
she has selected and simplified some of the
narratives, enriching them with Mr. Charles
xxi

E. Brock's fine drawings, for other children
whose eyes turn eagerly to look through

*' Magic casements opening on the foam
Of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn."

Frances Squire.

Bi$^t> of

jBe^enb of

N old times, many hundred years
ago, there was a Moorish king
named Aben Habuz, who
reigned over the kingdom of
Granada. In his youthful days he had been
a great conqueror, but now that he had grown
old, he desired nothing more than to live at
peace with all the world and to enjoy in quiet
the possessions he had taken from his neigh-
bours.

It so happened, however, that he had young
rivals to deal with; princes full of the de-
sire for fame and fighting, who had some old
scores to settle with him which he had run
up with their fathers. He also had some dis-
contented districts in his own kingdom, which
in his days of warfare he had treated with a

3

high hand, and which, now that he languished
for repose, were prone to rise in rebellion
and threaten to invade him in his capital.
Thus he had foes on every side; and as
Granada is surrounded by wild and craggy
mountains, which hide the approach of an
enemy, the unfortunate Aben Habuz was
kept in a constant state of watchfulness and
alarm.

He built watch-towers on the mountains,
and stationed guards at every pass with orders
to make fires at night and smoke by day, on
the approach of an enemy. But it was all in
vain. His foes baffled him at every turn, and
were sure to break out of some unthought-
of pass, plunder his lands under his very nose,
and then make off to the mountains with
their prisoners and booty.

It chanced that while Aben Habuz was
thus so sadly perplexed, an ancient Arabian
arrived at his court. His white beard hung
to his girdle, and he had every mark of ex-

4

treme age, yet he had travelled almost the
whole way from Egypt on foot, with no other
aid than a staff marked with hieroglyphics.
His fame had preceded him. His name was
Ibrahim, and it was said that he had lived
ever since the days of Mahomet. He had,
when a child, followed the Arabian army into
Egypt, where he had remained many years
studying magic among the priests, and there
he had learned the secret of prolonging life.

This wonderful old man was honourably
entertained by the king. He invited him to
remain in an apartment in his palace, but
the old Arab preferred a cave in the side of
the hill which rises above the city of Gra-
nada. He had the cave enlarged to form a
spacious hall, with a circular hole at the top,
through which he could see the heavens and
behold the stars. The walls of this hall were
covered with Egyptian hieroglyphics, and
with the figures of the stars in their signs.

In a little while the sage Ibrahim became
5

the bosom friend of the king, who applied to
him for advice on every occasion. One day
the king was as usual lamenting over the in-
justice of his neighbours and the strict watch-
fulness he was obliged to observe to guard
himself against their invasions. The old Arab
remained silent a moment, and then replied:

" Know, O king, that when I was in Egypt,
I beheld a great marvel. On a mountain,
above the city of Borsa, and overlooking the
great valley of the Nile was a figure of a ram,
and above it a figure of a cock, both of brass,
and turning upon a pivot. Whenever the
country was threatened with invasion, the
ram would turn in the direction of the enemy,
and the cock would crow. Upon this the in-
habitants of the city knew of the danger, and
of the quarter from which it was approach-
ing, and could take timely means to guard
against it."

"God is great!" exclaimed Aben Habuz,
" what a treasure would be such a ram to

6

&tQttib of tS}t (^tafiian (§$txoto^tt

keep an eye upon these mountains around
me: and then such a cock, to crow in time
of danger! How securely I might sleep in
my palace with such sentinels on the top ! "

"Listen, king," said the Arab. "When
the city was conquered, this talisman was de-
stroyed, but I was present and examined it
and studied its secret and mystery, and I can
make one of even greater power."

"Owise one," cried Aben Habuz, " better
were such a talisman than all the watch-
towers on the hills, and sentinels upon the
borders. Give me such a safeguard, and the
riches of my treasury are at your command."

And so the old Arab set to work at once to
carry out the wishes of the king. He caused
a great tower to be built upon the top of the
royal palace. It was built of stones brought
from Egypt, and taken, it is said, from one of
the pyramids. In the upper part of the tower
was a circular hall, with windows looking to-
ward every point of the compass, and before

7

€cik0 ftom t^t (Kii^cm&xci

each window was a table, on which was ar-
ranged, as on a chess-board, a mimic army
of horse and foot, with an image of the
monarch who ruled in that direction, all
carved of wood.

To each of these tables there was a small
lance, no bigger than a bodkin, on which
were engraved certain Chaldaic characters.
This hall was kept constantly closed, by a
gate of brass, with a great lock of steel, the
key of which was in possession of the king.

On the top of the tower was a bronze figure
of a Moorish horseman, fixed on a pivot, with
a shield on one arm and a lance. The face of
this horseman was toward the city, as if keep-
ing guard over it. But if any foe were at
hand, the figure would turn in that direction,
and would level the lance as if for action.

When this talisman was finished, Aben
Habuz was all impatient to try it. And he
now longed as much for an invasion as he
had before sighed for peace. He soon had his

8

wish. Tidings were brought, early one morn-
ing, that the face of the bronze horseman was
turned toward the mountains of Elvira, and
that his lance pointed directly against the
Pass of Lope.

^'Let the drums and trumpets sound to
arms, and all Granada be put on the alert/'
said Aben Habuz.

" Let not your city be disturbed," said the
Arab, "nor your warriors called to arms.
Send your attendants away and let us go
alone to the secret hall of the tower."

So the ancient Aben Habuz mounted the
staircase, leaning on the arm of the still more
ancient Ibrahim. They unlocked the door
and entered. The window that looked toward
the Pass of Lope was open.

"In that direction," said the astrologer,
" lies the danger. Behold, O king, the mys-
tery of the table."

The king stepped close to the board on
which were placed the small wooden figures,

9

and,"to his surprise, saw that they were all in
motion. The horses pranced, the warriors
brandished their weapons, and there was a
faint sound of drums and trumpets, and a
clang of arms, and the neighing of steeds : but
all no louder, nor more distinct, than the hum
of a bee.

" Behold," said the astrologer, " a proof that
your enemies are even now in the field. They
must be advancing through the mountains,
by the Pass of Lope. If you wish them
to retreat without loss of life, strike these
images with the head of the magic lance, but
if you would cause bloodshed among them,
strike with the point."

Aben Habuz seized the lance with trem-
bling eagerness.

'' Son of Abu Ayub," exclaimed he, in a
chuckling tone, " I think we will have a little
blood!"

So saying, he thrust the magic lance into
one of the images, and beat others with the

i6

head, upon which the former fell as dead
upon the board, and the rest turned upon
each other and began fighting pell-mell.

It was hard for the astrologer to stay the
hand of the old king, and prevent him from
killing all of his foes, but at last he persuaded
him to leave the tower, and scouts were at
once sent out to the mountains.

They returned with the news that a Chris-
tian army had advanced through the heart of
the Sierra, almost within sight of Granada,
where disagreement had broken out among
them. They had turned upon each other, and
after much killing had retreated over the
border.

Aben Habuz was overjoyed.

"At length," said he, "I shall lead a life
of peace, and have all my enemies in my
power."

And to the Arab he said:

" What can I give you in reward for so
great a blessing?"

II

Zcik0 ftom t^t (^f^amfim

" The wants of an old man and a philoso-
pher are few and simple. Grant me but the
means of fitting up my cave and I am con-
tent," answered Ibrahim.

The king was secretly pleased to know
that he asked so small a reward. He ordered
his treasurer to give him whatever sums
might be required to furnish and complete
his cave.

The astrologer now gave orders to have
various chambers hewn out of the solid rock.
These he caused to be furnished with beauti-
ful ottomans and divans, and the walls to be
hung with rich silks from Damascus.

"I am an old man," said he, "and can no
longer rest my bones on stone couches.
These damp walls require covering."

He had the apartments hung with silver
and crystal lamps, which were filled with a
fragrant oil made according to a recipe which
he had found in the tombs of Egypt. These
lights diffused a soft radiance.

12

" The light of the sun," said he, " is too
bright for the eyes of an old man. The light
of these lamps is better suited to the studies
of a philosopher."

The treasurer of King Aben Habuz
groaned at the sums daily demanded by the
astrologer, and he finally carried his com-
plaints to the king. The royal word, how-
ever, had been given. Aben Habuz
shrugged his shoulders.

" We must have patience," said he. " All
things have an end, and so will the furnish-
ing of this cavern."

And he was right. The hermitage was at
last complete, and formed a sumptuous under-
ground palace.

While the Arab passed his time in his
cave, Aben Habuz carried on furious battles
in the tower. It was a glorious thing for an
old man, like himself, to have war made easy,
and to be able to amuse himself in his cham-

13

^aC^0 ftom t^t (^t^cm&xa

ber by brushing away whole armies like so
many swarms of flies. And by degrees, his
enemies grew weary from repeated failures
and tried no more to invade his kingdom.

At length, one day, the bronze horseman
turned suddenly round, and lowering his
lance, made a dead point towards a certain
range of mountains. Aben Habuz hastened
to his tower, but the magic table in that di-
rection was quiet — not a single warrior was
in motion. The king was perplexed and sent
out a troop to scour the mountains. They re-
turned after three days' absence.

" We have searched every mountain pass,"
said they, " but not a helm nor spear was
stirring. All that we have found was a Chris-
tian damsel of great beauty, sleeping at noon-
tide beside a fountain."

" Let her be brought before me," said the
king.

So the Christian damsel was brought into
the king's presence. She was dressed in the

style of the Spaniards at the time of the
Arabian conquest. Pearls were entwined in
her hair, and jewels sparkled on her fore-
head. Around her neck was a golden chain,
to which was suspended a silver lyre which
hung by her side.

The flashes of her dark eyes were like
sparks of fire on the old yet combustible
heart of Aben Habuz,

" Fairest of women/' cried he, " who and
what are you ? "

"The daughter of a Spanish prince who
but lately ruled over this land. The armies
of my father have been destroyed, as if by
magic, among these mountains. He has been
driven into exile, and his daughter is a cap-
tive."

"Beware, O king!" whispered Ibrahim.
" This may be some evil spirit sent by your
foes to do you harm — I think I read witch-
craft in her eye. Doubtless this is the enemy
pointed out by the talisman."

15

^afC0 ftom t^t ^l^am&xa

" You are a wise man I grant/' replied the
king, "but you are little versed in the ways
of women. In that knowledge I yield to no
man. As to this damsel, I see no harm in
her. She is fair to look upon and finds favour
in my eyes."

"Hearken, king!" said the astrologer.
" I have given you many victories by means
of my talisman, but have never shared any
of the spoil. Give me this stray captive, to
solace me in my solitude with her silver
lyre."

" What! " cried Aben Habuz. " You have
already dancing-women to solace you."

" Dancing-women I have, it is true," said
Ibrahim, "but I would have a little min-
strelsy to refresh my mind when weary with
the toils of study."

But the king would not listen to the
Arab's request, and they parted in high
displeasure.

All kinds of festivities were devised for the
i6

entertainment of the princess — minstrelsy,
dancing, tournaments, bull-fights. Granada
for a time was a scene of perpetual pageant.
But she treated all this as a matter of course,
and seemed to take delight in causing ex-
pense as if she wished to drain the treasury
of the king.

Aben Habuz could not flatter himself that
he had made any impression on the heart of
the princess. She never frowned on him, it
is true, but then she never smiled. When-
ever he began to plead his suit, she struck
her silver lyre, and in an instant the old
monarch began to nod and gradually sink
into a deep sleep. All Granada scoffed at
his infatuation.

At length the danger burst on the head of
Aben Habuz, but this time the talisman gave
him no warning. His palace was surrounded
by an armed rabble, and both his life and that
of the princess were in danger. At the head

17

of a handful of guards he sallied forth, put
the rebels to flight, and crushed the insur-
rection in the bud.

When quiet was again restored, he went
in great alarm to the astrologer who still re-
mained shut up in his cave.

"Wise Ibrahim," said he, "what you fore-
told has in some sort come to pass. The
princess has brought trouble and danger
upon me. How can I be secure from my
enemies ? Show me some safe retreat where
I can stay in peace."

A gleam shone from the eyes of the Arab
under his bushy eyebrows.

"You have heard, no doubt," said he, "of
the palace and garden of Irem named in the
Koran."

And the king answered:

" I have heard of that garden : wonderful
things are told of it by the pilgrims who visit
Mecca, but I have thought them only wild
fables."

i8

"Listen," said Ibrahim. "In my younger
days, when I was a mere Arab of the desert, I
tended my father's camels. Once one of them
strayed from the rest and was lost. I searched
after it for several days, but in vain, until,
weary and faint, I laid myself down and slept
under a palm tree by the side of a well.
When I awoke, I found myself at the gate of
the city. I entered and saw noble streets and
squares and market places, but all were silent
and without an inhabitant. I wandered on
until I came to a palace with a garden
adorned with fountains and fish ponds and
groves and flowers and orchards of delicious
fruits. But still no one was to be seen. I be-
came frightened and hastened to depart, and
when I had gone through the gate of the
city, I turned to look upon the palace once
more, but it was no longer to be seen —
nothing but the silent desert before my eyes.
I met an ancient Arabian, who knew the se-
crets of the land, and told him what had be-

19

fallen me : ' This/ said he, ' is the Garden of
Irem, one of the wonders of the desert. It
only appears at times to some wanderer like
yourself.' In after years, when I had been in
Egypt and made myself master of all kinds
of magic spells, I made up my mind to visit
again this wonderful garden. I did so. It was
revealed to me and I passed several days in
the palace. The genii who watch over the
palace obeyed my magic power, and from
them I learned how the whole garden came
into existence, and how it was made invisi-
ble. What say you, king, would you have a
palace and garden like that of Irem, filled
with all manner of delights, but hidden from
the eyes of mortals?"

"Owise one," exclaimed the king eagerly,
" make me such a garden and ask any re-
ward even to the half of my kingdom."

"Alas," replied the other, "you know I
am an old man and a philosopher, and easily
satisfied. All the reward I ask is the first

20

beast of burden with its load, which shall
enter the gates of the garden."

The king gladly agreed and the Arab
began his work. On the top of the hill just
above his underground hall, he had a great
gateway built. There was an outer porch
with a lofty arch, and within was a portal
secured by massive gates. On the top stone
of the portal, the Arab, with his own hand,
made the figure of a huge key, and on the
top stone of the outer arch, which was loftier
than that of the portal, he carved a gigantic
hand. Over these he repeated many sen-
tences in an unknown tongue.

When this gateway was finished, he shut
himself up for two days in his hall, engaged
in secret incantations. The third day he went
to the summit of the hill, and passed the
whole day there. At a late hour he came
down and appeared before the king.

" My work is finished," said he. " On the
summit of the hill stands one of the most

21

wonderful palaces that ever the head of man
devised, or the heart of man desired. It con-
tains beautiful halls, galleries, gardens, cool
fountains, and fragrant baths. The whole
mountain is like paradise. Like the garden
of Irem, it is hidden from the sight of mortals,
except those who know the secret of the
talismans."

"Enough!" cried Aben Habuz joyfully.
"To-morrow morning with the first light
we will take possession."

Scarcely had the rays of the sun begun to
play about the mountains when Aben Habuz
mounted his steed, and with a few of his at-
tendants ascended a steep and narrow road
leading up the hill. Beside him on a white
palfrey rode the princess. Her whole dress
sparkled with jewels, and round her neck was
suspended her silver lyre. The Arab, who
never mounted a steed of any kind, walked
beside the king carrying his staff.

22

Aben Habuz looked to see the towers of
the palace, the terraces and gardens, but as
yet nothing of the kind was to be seen.

" That is the mystery of the place," said
the Arab; "nothing can be discerned until
you have passed the spell-bound gateway."

As they drew near, Ibrahim paused, and
pointed out the hand and key carved upon
the portal of the arch.

" These," said he, " are the talismans which
guard the entrance to this paradise. Until
the hand shall reach down and seize the
key no evil can prevail against the lord of
this mountain."

While the king was gazing in silent
wonder at these signs, the palfrey of the
princess went on and bore her in at the
portal, to the very centre of the barbican.

" Behold," cried the astrologer, " my prom-
ised reward: the first animal with its burden
that should enter the gateway."

The king smiled at first, not thinking the
23

Zcik0 ftrom i^t (^l^am&xa

old man in earnest, but when he found that
he was, his gray beard trembled with indig-
nation.

" You know the meaning of my promise,"
said he sternly, "the first beast of burden,
with its load, that should enter this portal.
Take the strongest mule in my stables, load
it with the most precious things of my trea-
sury, and it is yours, but dare not to think
that I shall give you the princess."

" What need I of wealth ? " cried the Arab
scornfully. "The princess is mine by right.
Your word is pledged. I claim her as my

own."

The princess looked down haughtily from
her palfrey, as she listened to this dispute
between two gray heads.

" Base son of the desert," cried the king,
" you may be master of many arts, but know
me for your master, and do not try to juggle
with your king."

" My master ! " echoed the Arab, " my king
24

indeed! Farewell, Aben Habuz, reign over
your petty kingdom ! As for me, I shall laugh
at you in my retirement."

And saying this, he seized the bridle of the
palfrey on which the princess was seated,
smote the earth with his staff, and sank with
her through the centre of the barbican. The
earth closed and no trace remained of the
opening.

Aben Habuz was struck dumb for a time.
Then he ordered a thousand workmen to dig
into the ground where the Arab had disap-
peared. They digged and digged, but in vain.
As soon as they threw the earth out, it filled
in again. They sought the Arab's cavern at
the foot of the hill, but there was no entrance
to be found.

All of the king's talismans now ceased to
be of use. The bronze horseman remained
fixed with his face turned toward the hill and
his spear pointed to the spot where the Arab

25

had descended^ as if there still lurked the
king's deadliest foe.

The top of the mountain, the site of the
promised palace and garden, remained a
desolate waste. And the neighbours of the
king, finding him no longer protected by
magic spell, invaded his lands from all sides,
and the remainder of his life was a tissue of
turmoils.

At length Aben Habuz died and was buried.

Ages have since rolled away. The Al-
hambra has been built on the mountain, and
in some measure resembles the fabled garden
of Irem. The spell-bound gateway still stands
with the mystic hand and key, and now forms
the entrance to the fortress. Under the gate-
way, it is said, the old Arab still remains in
his underground cavern, nodding on his
divan, lulled by the silver lyre of the princess.

The old sentinels, who guard the gate, hear
the music of the lyre sometimes in the sum-
mer nights, and doze quietly at their posts.

26

It is said that even those who watch by day
are generally found nodding on the stone
benches, or sleeping under the trees, so that
in truth it is the drowsiest military post in
all the world.

And the legends tell us that this will
endure. From age to age the Christian prin-
cess will remain a captive to the old Arab,
and by the music of her lyre he will remain
in magic slumber, unless the mystic hand
shall grasp the fated key and dispel the
whole charm of this enchanted mountain.

Be^en^ of

B^5^n^ of
(prince O^tneb af (KameC

HERE was once a Moorish king
of Granada, who had but one
son, whom he named Ahmed,
to which his courtiers added the
surname of al Kamel, or the Perfect, from
the signs of super-excellence which they per-
ceived in him in his very infancy. The as-
trologers predicted everything in his favour
that could make a perfect prince and a pros-
perous sovereign. One cloud only rested
upon his destiny. Unless he could be kept
from falling in love until he was of mature
age, he would run great perils.

To prevent this danger, the king wisely
determined to rear him in a seclusion where
he would never see a woman. For this pur-
ppse he built a beautiful palace on the brow

31

€aU0 from t^t l^t^cm&xa

of the hill above the Alhambra, in the midst
of delightful gardens, but surrounded by lofty
walls, being, in fact, the same palace known
at the present day as the Generalife. In this
palace the youthful prince was shut up and
entrusted to the care of Eben Bonabben, one
of the wisest and dryest of Arabian sages,
who had passed the greatest part of his life
in Egypt, studying hieroglyphics, and making
researches among the tombs and pyramids,
and who saw more charms in an Egyptian
mummy than in a living beauty.

The prince grew up in the seclusion of the
palace and its gardens, under the vigilant care
of Eben Bonabben, who sought to instruct
him in the abstruse lore of Egypt. But in
this he made little progress, and it was
soon evident that he had no turn for philo-
sophy.

He was, however, amazingly ductile for a
youthful prince, ready to follow any advice,
and always guided by the last counsellor.

32

&t^^^ of ^rinc^ (^^meb ai Mcimt(

He suppressed his yawns, and listened pa-
tiently to the long and learned discourse of
Eben Bonabben, from which he imbibed a
smattering of various kinds of knowledge, and
thus happily attained his twentieth year, a
miracle of princely wisdom.

About this time, however, a change came
over the conduct of the prince. He com-
pletely abandoned his studies, and took to
strolling about the gardens, and musing
about the side of the fountains. He had been
taught a little music among his various ac-
complishments. It now engrossed a great
part of his time, and a turn for poetry be-
came apparent. The sage Eben Bonabben
took the alarm, and endeavoured to work
these idle humours out of him by a severe
course of algebra: but the prince turned
from it with distaste.

"I cannot endure algebra," said he. "I
want something that speaks more to the
heart."

33

The sage Eben Bonabben shook his dry
head at the words.

" Here is an end to philosophy," thought
he. "The prince has discovered he has a
heart."

As algebra was not to be mentioned, and
he had exhausted almost all kinds of agree-
able knowledge, he now tried to instruct
him in the language of birds. This Eben
Bonabben had learned in Egypt, and the
prince applied himself to the study with such
avidity that he soon became as great an
adept as his master.

The tower of the Generalife was no longer
a solitude : he had companions at hand with
whom he could converse.

The first acquaintance he formed was with
a hawk, who built his nest in a crevice of the
lofty battlements, whence he soared far and
wide in quest of prey. The prince, however,
found little to like or esteem in him. He was
a mere pirate of the air, swaggering and
34

&t^tx(i> of prince (5^m<^b at Mamd

boastful, whose talk was all about carnage
and desperate exploits.

His next acquaintance was an owl, a wise-
looking bird, with a huge head and staring
eyes, who sat blinking and goggling all day
in a hole in the wall, but roamed forth at
night. He had great pretensions to wisdom,
talked of the moon, hinted at the dark
sciences, and was grievously given to meta-
physics, and the prince found him even more
ponderous than Eben Bonabben.

Then there was a bat, that hung all day
by his heels in the dark corner of a vault,
but sallied out in slipshod style at twilight.
He, however, had but twilight ideas on all sub-
jects, and seemed to take delight in nothing.

Besides these there was a swallow, with
whom the prince was at first much taken.
He was a smart talker, but restless, bustling,
and forever on the wing. He turned out in
the end to be a mere smatterer, who did but
skim over the surface of things, pretending
35

to know everything, but knowing nothing
thoroughly.

These were the only feathered associates
with whom he had any opportunity of ex-
ercising his newly acquired language. The
tower was too high for any other birds to
frequent it. He soon grew weary of his new
acquaintances whose conversation spoke so
little to the head and nothing to the heart,
and gradually relapsed into his loneliness. A
winter passed away, spring opened with all
its bloom and verdure, and the time arrived
for birds to build their nests. Suddenly, as
it were, a universal burst of song broke from
the groves and gardens of the Generalife,
and reached the prince in the solitude of his
tower. From every side he heard the same
universal theme — love — love — love —
chanted, and responded to in every variety
of note and tone. He listened in silence and
perplexity.

"What can this love be.?'' thought he,
36

^tQtnb of ^xinu ^^meb ai Mamtt

" of which the world seems to be so full,
and of which I know nothing?"

He applied for information to his friend
the hawk. The bird answered in a tone of
scorn.

" You must apply," said he, " to the vul-
gar, peaceable birds of earth, who are made
for the prey of us princes of the air. My trade
is war, and fighting my delight. I am a war-
rior, and know nothing of this thing called
love."

The prince [turned from him with disgust
and sought the owl in his retreat.

"This is a bird," said he, "of peaceful
habits, and may be able to solve my ques-
tion."

So he asked the owl to tell him what was
this love about which all the birds in the
groves below were singing.

Upon this the owl put on a look of of-
fended dignity.

" My time," said he, " is taken up with
37

study and research. As to these singing birds
of whom you talk, I never listen to them —
I despise them and their themes. Allah be
praised, I cannot sing: I am a philosopher,
and know nothing of this thing called love."

The prince now repaired to the vault,
where his friend the bat was hanging by the
heels, and asked the same question. The bat
wrinkled up his nose into a most snappish
expression.

"Why do you disturb me in my morning's
nap with such an idle question?'' said he
peevishly. " I only fly by twilight, when all
birds are asleep, and never trouble my-
self with their concerns. I am neither bird
nor beast, and I thank Heaven for it. I have
found out the villainy of the whole of them,
and hate them one and all. I know nothing
of this thing called love."

As a last resort, the prince now sought the
swallow, and stopped him just as he was cir-
cling about the summit of the tower. The

38

&tQ^^ of prince (^^m^b aC Mamd

swallow, as usual, was in a hurry, and had
scarce time to make a reply.

"Upon my word," said he, "I have so
much public business to attend to, and so
many pursuits to follow, that I have had no
time to think on the subject. I have every
day a thousand visits to pay; a thousand
affairs of importance to examine into, that
leaves me not a moment of leisure for these
little sing-song matters. In a word, I am a
citizen of the world — I know nothing of
this thing called love."

So saying, the swallow dived into the val-
ley and was out of sight in a moment.

The prince remained disappointed and
perplexed, and while he was still in this
mood, Eben Bonabben entered the tower.
The prince advanced eagerly to meet him.

"OEben Bonabben," cried he, "you have
revealed to me much of the wisdom of the
earth; but there is one thing of which I re-
main in utter ignorance, and would fain be
39

informed. Tell me, most profound of sages,
what is the nature of this thing called love ? "

Eben Bonabben was struck as with a thun-
derbolt. He trembled and turned pale, and
felt as if his head sat but loosely on his shoul-
ders. What could have suggested such a
question to the prince ? Where could he have
learnt so idle a word ?

The prince led him to the window of the
tower.

" Listen, O Eben Bonabben," said he. The
sage listened. The nightingale sat singing in
the thicket below the tower, and from every
grove rose a strain of melody; and love —
love — love — was still the unvarying strain.

" Allah Akbar! God is great! " cried the
wise Bonabben. "Who shall pretend to
keep this secret from the heart of man,
when even the birds of the air conspire to
betray it ? "

Then turning to Ahmed:

" O prince," cried he, " shut your ears to
40

&t^M^ of ^trinc^ (5§meb ai Mamtt

these strains. Close your mind against this
dangerous knowledge. Know that this love
is the cause of half the ills of wretched mor-
tality. It is this which produces bitterness
and strife between brethren and friends; care
and sorrow, weary days and sleepless nights,
are its attendants. It withers the bloom and
blights the joy of youth, and brings on the
ills and griefs of premature age. Allah pre-
serve you in total ignorance of this thing
called love! "

The sage Eben Bonabben hastily retired,
leaving the prince plunged in still deeper
perplexity. It was in vain he attempted to
dismiss the subject from his mind. It still
continued uppermost in his thoughts.

"Surely," said he to himself, as he listened
to the tuneful strains of the birds, " there is
no sorrow in those notes. If love be a cause
of such wretchedness and strife, why are not
these birds drooping in solitude, or tearing
each other in pieces, instead of fluttering
41

cheerfully about the groves, or sporting with
each other among the flowers?"

One morning, as the prince sat at his win-
dow in the tower, there was a sudden rushing
noise in the air. A beautiful dove, pursued by
a hawk, darted in at the window, and fell
panting on the floor, while the pursuer, balked
of his prey, soared off to the mountains.

The prince took up the gasping bird and
smoothed its feathers. When he had soothed
it, he put it in a golden cage, and offered it
the finest and whitest of wheat and the purest
of water. The bird, however, refused food,
and sat drooping and pining, and uttering
piteous moans.

" Have you not everything your heart can
wish?" said Ahmed.

" Alas, no! " replied the dove. " Am I not
separated from my mate and that too in the
happy spring-time, the very season of love ? "

" Pray, pretty bird," said the prince. " Can
you then tell me what is love ? "

42

J

&tQtt{b of ^xinu (^^m^b at Mamd

"Too well can I," replied the dove. "It
is the torment of one, the felicity of two, the
strife and enmity of three. It is the charm
which draws two beings together, and unites
them by tender sympathies, making it hap-
piness to be with each other, but misery to
be apart. Is there no being to whom you are
drawn by such ties ? "

" I like my old teacher, Eben Bonabben,
better than any other being. But he is often
tedious, and I occasionally feel myself hap-
pier without his society."

" That is not the sympathy I mean. I speak
of love, the great principle of life. Every
created being has its mate. The very beetle
wooes its lady-beetle in the dust. Is there no
beautiful princess nor lovely damsel who
has ensnared your heart?"

" I begin to understand," said the prince,
sighing.

A little further conversation ensued, and
the first lesson was complete.
43

" Alas ! " said he, " if love be such a de-
light, and its interruption such a misery,
Allah forbid that I should mar the joy of
any of its votaries."

He opened the cage, took out the dove,
and carried it to the window.

" Go, happy bird," said he, "rejoice with
your mate in the days of youth and spring-
time. Why should I make you a fellow pris-
oner in this dreary tower, where love can
never enter ? "

The dove flapped its wings in rapture, gave
one vault into the air, and then swooped down-
ward to the blooming bowers of the Darro.

A few mornings afterward, as the prince
was ruminating on the battlements of the
tower, the dove came hovering in the air,
and alighted fearlessly upon his shoulder.

" Happy bird," said he, "who can fly, as it
were, with the wings of the morning to the
uttermost parts of the earth, where have you
been since we parted ? "
44

&tQM^ of i^xxnu (gl^meb at Mamd

" In a far country, prince, whence I bring
you tidings in reward for my liberty. In the
wild compass of my flight, which extends
over plain and mountain, as I was soaring in
the air, I beheld below me a delightful garden
with all kinds of fruits and flowers. It was in
a green meadow, on the banks of a winding
stream: and in the centre of the garden was
a stately palace. I alighted in one of the
bowers to rest after my weary flight. On the
green bank below me was a youthful prin-
cess. She was surrounded by female attend-
ants, young like herself, who decked her with
garlands, but no flower of the field could com-
pare with her for loveliness. ' Here,' thought
I, ^is the being formed by Heaven to in-
spire my prince with love.' "

The resolution of the prince was taken.
He addressed a letter to the princess : " To
the Unknown Beauty, from Ahmed al Ka-
mel," and gave it to the dove.

"Away, trustiest of messengers! " said he.
45

€ak& from t^^ ^t^am&xa

" Fly over mountain and valley, river and
plain. Rest not until you have given this
letter to the princess."

The dove soared high in the air, and tak-
ing his course, darted away. The prince fol-
lowed him with his eye until he was a mere
speck on a cloud, and gradually disappeared
behind a mountain.

Day after day he watched for the return
of the messenger, but he watched in vain.
At last, one evening toward sunset, the faith-
ful bird fluttered into his apartment, and,
falling at his feet, expired. The arrow of
some archer had pierced his breast, yet he
had struggled with the lingerings of life to
deliver the message. As the prince bent with
grief over the gentle martyr, he beheld a
chain of pearls round his neck, attached
to which, beneath his wing, was a small
enamelled picture. It represented a lovely
princess in the very flower of her years, and
was doubtless the unknown beauty of the
46

&t^M^ of prince (^^meb ai Mamtt

garden. But who and where was she ? And
was this picture sent as a token of her ap-
proval of his letter ? Unfortunately the death
of the faithful dove left everything in mystery
and doubt. The prince gazed on the picture.
" I will fly from this palace/' said he, " which
has become an odious prison, and will seek
this unknown princess throughout the world."
To escape from the tower in the day,
when every one was awake, might be a diflS-
cult matter; but at night the palace was
slightly guarded, for no one thought of the
prince making any attempt of the kind. He
had alwa3^s been passive in his captivity.
How was he to guide himself, however, in
his flight, being ignorant of the country? He
bethought him of the owl, who was used to
roaming at night, and must know every by-
lane and secret path. Seeking him in his
hermitage, he questioned him touching his
knowledge of the land. Upon this the owl
put on a mighty self-important look.
47

€cKkB from t^t (At^am&xa

"You must know, O prince," said he,
" that we owls are of a very ancient and ex-
tensive family, though rather fallen to decay,
and possess ruinous castles and palaces in
all parts of Spain. There is scarcely a tower
of the mountains, or a fortress of the plains
or old citadel, but has some brother, or uncle,
or cousin, quartered in it. And in going the
rounds to visit my numerous kindred, I have
pried into every nook and corner, and made
myself acquainted with every secret of the
land."

The prince was overjoyed to find the owl
so deeply versed in topography, and now in-
formed him of his intended elopement, urg-
ing him to be his companion and counsellor.

" Go to! " said the owl, with a look of dis-
pleasure. " Am I a bird to engage in such an
affair as this ? — I whose whole time is de-
voted to meditation and the moon? "

" Be not offended, most solemn owl," re-
plied the prince. "Abstract yourself for a
48

£^5^b of Qprince (^§meb aC Mamtt

time from meditation and the moon. Aid me
in my flight, and you shall have whatever
heart can wish.''

" I have that already," said the owl. " A
few mice are sufficient for my frugal table,
and this hole in the wall is spacious enough
for my studies. What more does a philoso-
pher like myself desire ? "

" But think, wise owl, that while moping
in your cell and gazing at the moon, all your
talents are lost to the world. I shall one day
be a sovereign prince, and may advance you
to some post of honour and dignity."

The owl,thoughaphilosopher, and above the
ordinary wants of life, was not above ambition,
so he was finally prevailed on to elope with
the prince and be his guide in the pilgrimage.

The prince collected all his jewels, and
concealed them about his person as travelling
funds. That very night he lowered himself
by his scarf from a balcony of the tower,
clambered over the oiiter walls of the Gen-

49

eralife, and, guided by the owl, made good
his escape before morning to the mountains.

He now held a council with his guide as
to his future course.

"Might I advise," said the owl, "I
would recommend you to repair to Seville.
You must know that many years since I was
on a visit to an uncle, an owl of great dig-
nity and power, who lived in a ruined wing
of the Alcazar. In my ho verings at night over
the city, I frequently remarked a light burn-
ing in a lonely tower. At length I alighted
on the battlements, and found it to proceed
from the lamp of an Arabian magician. He
was surrounded by his magic books, and on
his shoulder was perched an ancient raven,
who had come with him from Egypt. I am
acquainted with that raven, and owe to him
a great part of the knowledge I possess. The
magician is since dead, but the raven still
inhabits the tower, for these birds are of
wonderfully long life. I would advise you,
50

^e^^b of ^xxnu (^§meb ai Mamd

O prince, to seek that raven, for like all
ravens, especially those of Egypt, he is a re-
nowned soothsayer and a conjuror."

The prince was struck with the wisdom of
this advice, and accordingly bent his course
towards Seville. He travelled only in the
night to accommodate his companion, and
lay by during the day in some dark cavern
or mouldering watch-tower, for the owl
knew every hiding place of the kind, and
had a great taste for ruins.

At length one morning, at daybreak, they
reached the city of Seville, where the owl,
who hated the glare and bustle of crowded
streets, halted without the gate, and took up
his quarters in a hollow tree.

The prince entered the gate and readily
found the magic tower, which rose above the
houses of the city as a palm tree rises above
the shrubs of the desert. It was in fact the
same as the tower standing to-day, and
known as the Giralda.
51

€(Xit0 ftrom t^t ^t^cm&xci

The prince ascended by a great winding
staircase to the summit of the tower, where
he found the raven — an old, mysterious,
gray-headed bird, ragged in feather, with a
film over one eye. He was perched on one
leg, with his head turned on one side, por-
ing with his remaining eye on a diagram
described on the pavement.

The prince approached him with awe and
reverence.

" Pardon me, most ancient and wise raven,"
exclaimed he, " if for a moment I interrupt
those studies which are the wonder of the
world. You behold in me a pilgrim of love,
and I would seek your counsel how to ob-
tain the object of my devotion."

" And can you be at any loss for an object
in Andalusia?" said the old raven, leering
upon him with his single eye. " Above all,
can you be at a loss in Seville, where black-
eyed damsels dance the zambra under every
orange grove ? "

52

B(^5^b of ^xxnct (^§meb at Mcmd

The prince was somewhat shocked at
hearing an old bird with one foot in the grave
talk thus loosely.

" Believe me," said he gravely, " I am on
no such light errand as that. The black-
eyed damsels of Andalusia who dance among
the orange groves are naught to me. I seek
the original of this picture. And I beseech
you, most potent raven, if it be within the
scope of your knowledge or reach of your
art, inform me where she may be found."

The gray-headed raven was rebuked by
the gravity of the prince.

" What know I," replied he dryly, " of
youth and beauty? My visits are to the old
and not the young and fair. I am the harbin-
ger of fate who croak bodings of death from
the chimney-top and flap my wings at the
sick man's window. You must seek else-
where for tidings of your unknown prin-

cess."

" And where can I seek if not among the
53

Zak^ from t^t f^i^am&xa

sons of wisdom ? Know that I am a royal
prince, fated by the stars, and sent on a mys-
terious enterprise on which may hang the
destiny of empires."

When the raven heard that it was a mat-
ter of vast moment, he changed his tone and
manner, and listened with profound atten-
tion to the story of the prince. When it was
finished, he replied:

" Touching this princess, I can give you
no information of myself, for my flight is not
among gardens, or around ladies' bowers.
But go to Cordova, seek the palm tree which
stands in the court of the principal mosque.
At the foot of it you will find a great travel-
ler who has visited all countries and courts.
He will give you tidings of the object of
your search."

" Many thanks for this information," said
the prince. " Farewell."

" Farewell," said the raven dryly, and again
fell to pondering on the diagram.
54

Si^ij^b of ^xintt (^^meb M Mamd

The prince sallied forth from Seville, sought
his fellow-traveller, the owl, who was still doz-
ing in the hollow tree, and set off for Cordova.

He approached it along hanging gardens,
and orange and citron groves, overlooking
the fair valley of the river. When they ar-
rived at the city gates, the owl flew up to a
dark hole in the wall, and the prince pro-
ceeded in quest of the palm tree which had
been planted in days of yore. It stood in the
midst of the great court of the mosque tower-
ing from amidst orange and cypress trees.
Men were seated in groups under the cloisters
of the court, and many of the faithful were
washing at the fountains, before entering the
mosque.

At the foot of the palm tree was a crowd
listening to the words of one who appeared
to be a great talker.

" This," said the prince to himself, " must
be the great traveller who is to give me
tidings of the unknown princess."
55

He mingled in the crowd, but was aston-
ished to perceive that they were all listening
to a parrot, who, with his bright-green coat,
pragmatical eye and consequential top-knot,
had the air of a bird on excellent terms with
himself.

" How is this," said the prince to one of
the by-standers, " that so many grave persons
can be delighted with a chattering bird?"

'^You know not whom you speak of,"
said the other. " This parrot is a descendant
of the famous parrot of Persia, renowned for
his story-telling talent. He has all the learn-
ing of the East at the tip of his tongue, and
can quote poetry as fast as he can talk. He
has visited various foreign courts, where he
has been considered an oracle of erudition."

" Enough," said the prince, '' I will have
some private talk with this distinguished
traveller."

He sought a private interview, and told the
parrot the nature of his errand. He had
56

BtQ^nb of ypmce @§m^b af Mamti

scarcely mentioned it when the parrot burst
into a fit of dry rickety laughter, that brought
tears into his eyes.

" Excuse my merriment," said he, " but
the mere mention of love always sets me
laughing."

The prince was shocked at this ill-timed
mirth.

" Is not love," said he, "the universal bond
of sympathy ? "

" A fig's end!" cried the parrot, interrupt-
ing him. " Prithee where have you learned
this jargon? Trust me, love is quite out of
vogue. One never hears of it in the company
of wits and people of refinement."

The prince sighed as he recalled the dif-
ferent language of his friend the dove. He
then directed his inquiries to the immediate
purport of his visit.

"Tell me," said he, "have you in the
course of your travels met with the original
of this portrait ? "

"57

The parrot took the picture in his claw,
turned his head from side to side, and exam-
ined it curiously with either eye.

"Upon my honour," said he, "a very
pretty face, a very pretty face. But then one
sees so many pretty women in one's travels
that one can hardly — but hold — bless me!
now I look at it again — sure enough, this
is the princess Aldegonda. How could I
forget one who is such a favourite with
me!"

"The princess Aldegonda!" echoed the
prince. "And where is she to be found?"

" Softly, softly," said the parrot: "easier
to be found than gained. She is the only
daughter of the Christian king who reigns
at Toledo, and is shut up from the world
until her seventeenth birthday. You will not
get a sight of her. No mortal man can see
her. I was admitted to her presence to en-
tertain her, and I assure you, on the word
of a parrot who has seen the world, I have
58

&tQM^ of ^xxnct (§^mt^ at Mamtt

conversed with much sillier princesses in
my time."

" A word in confidence, my dear parrot,"
said the prince. " I am heir to a kingdom,
and shall one day sit upon a throne. I see
that you are a bird of parts, and understand
the world. Help me to gain possession of
this princess, and I will advance you to some
distinguished place about my court."

"With all my heart," said the parrot.
" But let it be a sinecure, if possible, for we
wits have a great dislike to labour."

Arrangements were promptly made. The
prince sallied forth from Cordova through
the same gate by which he had entered. He
called the owl down from the hole in the
wall, introduced him to his new travelling
companion as a brother savant, and off they
set on their journey.

The prince was impatient, but they trav-
elled much more slowly than he wished.
The parrot was accustomed to high life, and
59

€cik0 ftom t^t @{f amfim

did not like to be disturbed early in the
morning. The owl, on the other hand, was
for sleeping at mid-day, and lost a great deal
of time by his long siestas. His antiquarian
taste also was in the way, for he insisted on
pausing and inspecting every ruin, and had
long legendary tales to tell about every old
tower and castle in the country.

The prince had supposed that he and the
parrot, being both birds of learning, would
delight in each other's society, but never had
he been more mistaken. They were eter-
nally bickering. The one was a wit, the
other a philosopher. The parrot quoted po-
etry, was critical on new readings and elo-
quent on small points of erudition: the owl
treated all such knowledge as trifling, and
cared for nothing but metaphysics. Then the
parrot would sing songs and crack jokes
upon his solemn neighbour, and laugh at
his own wit. The owl considered all this as
an invasion on his dignity, and he would
60 ^

*

Bt^M^ of ^xxnu (^§meb ctC Mamd

scowl and sulk and swell, and be silent for
a whole day together.

The prince, being wrapped up in the
dreams of his own fancy, gave no heed to
the wranglings of his companions. In this
way they journeyed through the stern passes
of the mountains, across the sunburnt plains
of La Mancha and Castile, and along the
banks of the Tagus, which winds its wiz-
ard mazes over one half of Spain and Por-
tugal.

At length they came in sight of a strong
city with walls and towers built on a rocky
promontory, round the foot of which the
Tagus circled with brawling violence.

"Behold!" exclaimed the owl, " the an-
cient city of Toledo. Behold those venerable
domes and towers, in which so many of my
ancestors have meditated."

" Pish ! " cried the parrot, interrupting his
solemn rapture. " What have we to do with
legends and your ancestry.? Behold what is
6i

more to the purpose — behold at length, O
prince, the abode of your long-sought prin-

cess."

The prince looked in the direction indi-
cated by the parrot, and beheld, in a delight-
ful green meadow on the banks of the Tagus,
a stately palace rising from amidst the bow-
ers of a garden. It was just such a place as
had been described by the dove as the resi-
dence of the original of the picture. He
gazed at it with a throbbing heart.

"Perhaps at this moment," thought he,
" the beautiful princess is sporting beneath
those shady bowers, or pacing with delicate
step those stately terraces, or reposing be-
neath those lofty roofs ! "

As he looked more closely, he perceived
that the walls of the garden were of great
height, so as to defy access, while numbers
of armed guards patrolled around them.

The prince turned to the parrot.

"Most accomplished of birds," said he,
62

&t^m\> of ^xxnu (^^meb at Mcmd

" you have the gift of human speech ! Hie
you to yon garden. Seek the princess, and
tell her that Prince Ahmed, guided by the
stars, has arrived in quest of her."

The parrot, proud of his embassy, flew
away to the garden, mounted above its lofty
wall, and, after soaring for a time over the
lawns and groves, alighted on the balcony
of a pavilion that overhung the river. Here,
looking in at the casement, he beheld the
princess reclining on a couch, with her eyes
fixed on a paper, while tears gently stole
after each other down her pallid cheek.

Pluming his wings for a moment, and ad-
justing his bright-green coat, the parrot
perched himself beside her with a gallant
air. Then he assumed a tenderness of tone.

"Dry your tears, most beautiful of prin-
cesses," said he; "I come to bring solace to
your heart."

The princess was startled on hearing a
voice, but turning and seeing nothing but a
63

little green-coated bird bobbing and bowing
before her :

" Alas ! what solace can you yield," said
she, "seeing you are but a parrot? "

The parrot was nettled at the question.

" I have consoled many ladies in my time,"
said he ; " but let that pass. At present I come
ambassador from a royal prince. Know that
Ahmed, the prince of Granada, has arrived
in quest of you, and is encamped even now
on the banks of the Tagus."

The eyes of the princess sparkled at these
words.

" O sweetest of parrots," cried she, "joy-
ful indeed are your tidings, for I was faint
and weary with doubt of the constancy of
Ahmed. Tell him that the words of his letter
are engraven in my heart, and that his poetry
has been the food of my soul. Tell him, how-
ever, that he must prepare to prove his love
by force of arms. To-morrow is my seven-
teenth birthday, when the king, my father,

64

&tQM^ of (ptince (^^tneb af Mcmd

holds a great tournament. Several princes
are to enter the lists, and my hand is to be
the prize of the victor."

The parrot again took wing, and flew back
to where the prince awaited his return. The
rapture of Ahmed on finding the original of
the portrait, and finding her kind and true,
can only be understood by those favoured
mortals who have had the good fortune to
realize day-dreams and turn a shadow into
substance.

Still there was one thing that alloyed his
transport — this impending tournament. In
fact, the banks of the Tagus were already
glittering with arms, and resounding with
trumpets of the various knights, who were
prancing on toward Toledo.

Like the prince, the princess had been
shut up from the world until her seventeenth
birthday, but the fame of her charms had
been enhanced by this seclusion. Several
powerful princes had contended for her hand;

65

and her father, who was a king of wondrous
shrewdness, to avoid making enemies, had
referred them all to the power of arms.
Among the rival candidates were several re-
nowned for strength and prowess. What a
predicament for the unfortunate Ahmed, un-
provided as he was with weapons, and un-
skilled in the exercise of arms !

" Luckless prince that I am ! " said he, " to
have been brought up in seclusion under the
eye of a philosopher! "

" Allah Akbar! God is great! " exclaimed
the owl. " In his hands are all secret things :
he alone governs the destinies of princes!
Know, O prince, that this land is full of
mysteries hidden from all but those who,
like myself, can grope after knowledge in
the dark. Know that in the neighbouring
mountains there is a cave, and in that cave
there is an iron table, and on that table there
lies a suit of magic armour, and beside that
table there stands a spell-bound steed, which
66

^t^ttib of ^xinct ^^meb ai Mam^i

have been shut up there for many genera-
tions."

The prince stared with wonder.

"Many years since," continued the owl,
" I accompanied my father to these parts on
a tour of his estates, and we sojourned in
that cave; and thus I became acquainted
with the mystery. It is a tradition in our
family which I have heard from my grand-
father, when I was yet but a very little owlet,
that this armour belonged to a Moorish magi-
cian who took refuge in this cavern when
Toledo was captured by the Christians, and
died here leaving his steed and weapons
under a mystic spell, never to be used but by
a Moslem, and by him only from sunrise to
mid-day. In that time, whoever uses them
will overthrow every opponent."

"Enough: let us seek this cave!" ex-
claimed Ahmed.

Guided by the owl, the prince found the
cavern, which was in a wild, rocky cliff. A
67

€ciU0 ftom t^t (^f^amfita

lamp of everlasting oil shed a solemn light
through the place. On an iron table in the
centre of the cavern lay the magic armour,
against it leaned the lance, and beside it
stood an Arabian steed, ready for the field,
but motionless as a statue. When Ahmed
laid his hand upon the steed's neck, he pawed
the ground and gave a loud neigh of joy that
shook the walls of the cavern. Thus pro-
vided with "horse and rider and weapon
to wear," the prince determined to defy the
field in the coming tourney.

The eventful morning arrived. The lists
for the combat were prepared in the Vega
just below the walls of Toledo, where stages
and galleries were erected for the specta-
tors, covered with rich tapestry, and shel-
tered from the sun by silken awnings. All
the beauties of the land were assembled in
those galleries, while below pranced plumed
knights with their pages and esquires, among

68

whom were the princes who were to con-
tend in the tourney.

All the beauties of the land, however,
were eclipsed when the princess Aldegonda
appeared in the royal pavilion, and for the
first time broke forth upon the gaze of an
admiring world.

The princess, however, had a troubled
look. The colour came and went from her
cheek, and her eye wandered with a restless
expression over the plumed throng of knights.
The trumpets were about sounding for the
encounter, when the herald announced the
arrival of a strange knight, and Ahmed rode
into the field.

A steel helmet rose above his turban. His
cimeter and dagger were of the workman-
ship of Fez, and flamed with precious stones.
A round shield was at his shoulder, and in
his hand he bore the charmed lance. The
lofty and graceful demeanour of the prince
struck every eye, and when his name was

69

€cik0 ftrom i^e (^i^am&xa

announced, a flutter prevailed among the
fair dames in the gallery.

When Ahmed presented himself at the
lists, however, they were closed against him.
None but princes, he was told, were ad-
mitted to the contest. He declared his name
and rank. Still worse ! — he was a Moslem,
and could not engage in a tourney when the
hand of a Christian princess was the prize.

With haughty looks the rival princes sur-
rounded him ; and one sneered at his light
and youthful form. The ire of the prince was
aroused. He defied his rival to an encounter.
They took distance, wheeled and charged;
and at the first touch of the magic lance the
scoffer was tilted from his saddle.

Here the prince would have paused, but,
alas! nothing would control his horse and
armour. The Arabian steed charged into the
thickest of the throng. The lance overturned
everything that presented. The gentle prince
was carried pell-mell about the field, strew-

70

^^5^b of ^xxnct (^§meb ai Mamti

ing it with high and low, gentle and simple.
The king stormed and raged at this outrage
on his subjects and his guests. He ordered
out his guards — they were unhorsed as fast
as they came up. The king threw off his
robes, grasped buckler and lance, and rode
forth to awe the stranger with the presence
of majesty itself. Alas ! majesty fared no bet-
ter than the vulgar. The steed and lance were
no respecters of persons. To the dismay of
Ahmed, he was borne full tilt against the king,
and in a moment the royal heels were in the
air, and the crown was rolling in the dust.

At this moment the sun reached the me-
ridian. The magic spell resumed its power.
The Arabian steed scoured across the plain,
leaped the barrier, plunged into the Tagus,
swam its raging torrent, bore the prince
breathless and amazed to the cavern, and
resumed his station beside the iron table.

The prince dismounted right gladly, and
replaced the armour. Then he seated him-

71

self in the cavern, and began to think. Never
again should he dare to show his face at To-
ledo after inflicting such disgrace upon its
chivalry, and such an outrage on its king.
What, too, would the princess think ? Full of
anxiety, he sent forth his winged messengers
to gather tidings.

The parrot resorted to all the public places
and crowded resorts of the city, and soon
returned with a world of gossip. All Toledo
was in consternation. The princess had been
borne oflT senseless to the palace. The tour-
nament had ended in confusion. Every one
was talking of the Moslem knight. Some
thought him a Moorish magician; while
others thought he might be one of the en-
chanted warriors who were said to be hid-
den in the caves of the mountains. All agreed
that no ordinary mortal could have wrought
such wonders.

The owl flew out at night and hovered
about the dusky city, perching on the roofs

72

;S^5^b of ^xinct (§^mt)> a( Mcmd

and chimneys. He then wheeled his flight
up to the royal palace, and went prowling
about, eavesdropping at every cranny, and
glaring in with his big goggling eyes at every
window where there was a light, so as to
throw two or three maids of honour into fits.
It was not until the grey dawn began to peer
above the mountains that he returned from
his expedition and related to the prince what
he had seen.

" As I was prying about one of the loftiest
towers of the palace," said he, " I beheld
through a casement a beautiful princess. She
was reclining on a couch, with attendants
and physicians around her, but she would
have none of their ministry and relief. When
they retired, I beheld her draw a letter from
her bosom, and read it, and give way to loud
lamentations, at which, philosopher as I am,
I could but be greatly moved."

Ahmed was distressed at these tidings.

"Too true were your words, O Eben Bon-
73

€ak$ from t^t (§t^am&xa

abben! " cried he. "Care and sorrow, and
sleepless nights are the lot of lovers. Allah
preserve the princess from the blighting in-
fluence of this thing called love."

Further news from Toledo showed that
the report of the owl was true. The city was
a prey to uneasiness and alarm. The prin-
cess was conveyed to the highest tower of
the palace, every avenue to which was
strongly guarded. In the meantime, a de-
vouring melancholy had seized upon her, of
which no one could divine the cause. She
refused food, and turned a deaf ear to every
consolation. The most skilful physicians
had essayed their art in vain. It was thought
some magic spell had been practised upon her,
and the king made proclamation, declaring
that whoever should effect her cure should
receive the richest jewel in the royal treasury.

When the owl, who was dozing in a cor-
ner, heard of this, he rolled his large eyes
and looked more mysterious than ever.
74

^e^^b of ^xxnu (^§m<^b af Mamd

" Allah Akbar ! " exclaimed he, "happy
the man that shall effect that cure, should
he but know what to choose from the royal
treasury."

" What mean you, most reverend owl ? "
said Ahmed.

" Hearken, prince, to what I shall relate.
We owls, you must know, are a learned
body, and much given to dark and dusty re-
search. During my late prowling at night
about the domes and turrets of Toledo, I
discovered a college of owls, who hold their
meetings in a great vaulted tower where the
royal treasury is deposited. Here they were
discussing ancient gems and jewels, and
golden and silver vessels, heaped up in the
treasury, the fashion of every country and
age. But mostly they were interested about
certain relics and talismans which have re-
mained in the treasury since the time of
Roderick the Goth. Among them was a
box of sandal-wood, secured by bands of
75

^afe0 from t^t (^C^amfira

steel, and inscribed with mystic characters
known only to the learned few. This box
and inscription had occupied the college for
several sessions, and had caused much long
and grave dispute. At the time of my visit a
very ancient owl, who had recently arrived
from Egypt, was seated on the lid of the box
lecturing upon the inscription, and he proved
from it that the coffer contained the silken
carpet of the throne of Solomon the Wise."

When the owl had concluded his harangue,
the prince remained for a time absorbed in
thought.

" I have heard," said he, " from the sage
Eben Bonabben of the wonderful properties
of that talisman, which disappeared at the
fall of Jerusalem and was supposed to be lost
to mankind. Doubtless it remains a sealed
mystery to the Christians of Toledo. If I can
get possession of the carpet, my fortune is
secure."

The next day the prince laid aside his rich
76

attire, and arrayed himself in the simple
garb of an Arab of the desert. He dyed his
complexion to a tawny hue, and no one
could have recognized in him the splendid
warrior who had caused such admiration
and dismay at the tournament. With staff in
hand, and a small pastoral reed, he repaired
to Toledo, and presenting himself at the gate
of the royal palace, announced himself as a
candidate for the reward offered for the cure
of the princess. The guards would have
driven him away with blows.

"What can a vagrant Arab like you pre-
tend to do," said they, " in a case where the
most learned of the land have failed?"

The king, however, overheard, and or-
dered the Arab to be brought into his pre-
sence.

" Most potent king," said Ahmed, " you
behold before you a Bedouin Arab, the
greater part of whose life has been passed in
the solitudes of the desert. These solitudes,

77

it is well known, are the haunts of demons
and evil spirits, who beset us poor shepherds
in our lonely watchings, enter into and pos-
sess our flocks and herds, and sometimes
render even the patient camel furious.
Against these, our counter-charm is music :
and we have legendary airs handed down
from generation to generation, that we chant
and pipe, to cast forth these evil spirits. I
am of a gifted line, and possess this power in
its fullest force. If it be any evil influence of
the kind that holds a spell over your daugh-
ter, I pledge my head to free her from its
sway."

The king, who was a man of understand-
ing, and knew the wonderful secrets often
possessed by the Arabs, was inspired with
hope by the language of the prince. He
conducted him immediately to the lofty tower,
in the summit of which was the chamber of
the princess. The windows opened upon a
terrace, commanding a view over Toledo and

78

iSe^mb of ^nnce (?l^m^b ai Mamtt

all the surrounding country. The windows
were darkened, for the princess lay within,
a prey to devouring grief.

The prince seated himself on the terrace,
and performed on his pastoral pipe several
wild Arabian airs which he had learnt from
his attendants in the Generalife at Granada.
The princess continued insensible, and the
doctors who were present shook their heads,
and smiled with contempt. At length the
prince laid aside the reed, and, to a simple
melody, chanted the verses of the letter
which he had sent to the princess.

The princess recognized the strain — she
raised her head and listened. She would have
asked for the minstrel to be brought into
her presence, but maiden coyness held her
silent. The king read her wishes, and at his
command Ahmed was conducted into the
chamber. The prince and princess exchanged
glances which spoke volumes. Never was
triumph of music more complete. The rose

79

t^akB from t^t (^t^cm&xa

had returned to the soft cheek of the prin-
cess, and the light to her eyes.

All the physicians present stared at each
other with astonishment. The king regarded
the Arab minstrel with admiration and awe.

"Wonderful youth! "exclaimed he, "you
shall henceforth be the first physician of my
court, and no other prescription will I take
but your melody. For the present receive
your reward, the most precious jewel in my
treasury."

"O king," replied Ahmed, "I care not for
silver or gold or precious stones. You have
one relic in your treasury, handed down
from the Moslems, who once owned Toledo
— a box of sandal- wood containing a silken
carpet. Give me that box, and I am con-
tent."

All present were surprised at the modera-
tion of the Arab, and still more when the
box of sandal-wood was brought and the
carpet drawn forth. It was of fine green silk.

80

Se^^b of prince @^meb at Mamti

The court physicians looked at each other,
shrugged their shoulders, and smiled.

" This carpet," said the prince, " once
covered the throne of Solomon. It is worthy
of being placed beneath the feet of beauty."

So saying, he spread it on the terrace be-
neath an ottoman that had been brought to
the princess — then seating himself at her
feet:

" Who," said he, " shall counteract what
is written in the book of fate? Behold the
prediction of the astrologers verified. Know,
O king, that your daughter and I have long
loved each other in secret."

These words were scarcely said when the
carpet rose in the air, bearing off the prince
and princess. The king and the physicians
gazed after it with open mouths and strain-
ing eyes until it became a little speck, and
then disappeared in the blue vault of Heaven.

The king in a rage summoned his trea-
surer.

8i

€ciit& from i^t (§t^am&xa

"How is this," said he, "that you have
suffered an infidel to get possession of such
a talisman? "

" Alas, sir, we knew not its nature. If it
be indeed the carpet of the throne of Solo-
mon, it is possessed of magic power, and can
transport its owner from place to place
through the air."

The king assembled a mighty army, and
set off for Granada in pursuit of the fugitives.
His march was long and toilsome. Encamp-
ing in the Vega, he sent a herald to demand
his daughter. The king of Granada himself
came forth with all his court to meet him,
and in him the Christian king beheld the
minstrel, for Ahmed had succeeded to the
throne on the death of his father, and the
beautiful Aldegonda was the sultana.

The Christian king was easily pacified
when he found that his daughter continued
in his faith; not that he was particularly
pious, but religion is always a point of pride

82

ii»«a»|KlKnei»iie;

BtQm^ of ^tinc^ ^^mtl ai Mamd

and etiquette with princes. Instead of battles,
there was a succession of feasts and rejoicings,
after which the king returned well pleased to
Toledo, and the youthful couple continued to
reign as happily as wisely in the Alhambra.

It is proper to add that the owl and the
parrot had severally followed the prince by
easy stages to Granada: the former travel-
ling by night, and stopping at the various he-
reditary possessions of his family — the latter
figuring in gay circles of every town and
city on his route.

Ahmed gratefully requited the services
which they had rendered on his pilgrimage.
He appointed the owl his prime minister,
and the parrot his master of ceremonies. It
is needless to say that never was a realm
more sagely administered, nor a court con-
ducted with more exact punctilio.

Be^enb of
Cpe (moot'0 Be^ac^

Bt^tn'b of

UST within the fortress of the
•^^ Alhambra, in front of the royal
palace, is a broad open space,
called the Place of the Cisterns,
so called from being undermined by reser-
voirs of water. At one corner of this place
is a Moorish well, cut through the rock to a
great depth, the water of which is cold as ice
and clear as crystal. This well is famous
throughout Granada, and water-carriers,
some bearing great water-jars on their shoul-
ders, others driving donkeys before them
laden with earthen vessels, are going up and
down the woody avenues, from early morn-
ing until a late hour of the night.

Fountains and wells have always been
noted gossiping-places in hot climates; and

87

at this well there is a kind of perpetual club
kept up during the livelong day, by the in-
valids, old women, and other curious do-
nothing folk, who sit on the stone benches,
and dawdle over the gossip of the fortress,
and question every water-carrier that arrives
about the news of the city, and make long
comments on everything they hear and see.
Not an hour of the day but loitering house-
wives and idle maid-servants may be seen,
lingering with pitcher on head or in hand, to
hear the last of the endless tattle.

Among the water-carriers who once re-
sorted to this well, there was a sturdy, strong-
backed, bandy-legged little fellow, named
Pedro Gil, but called Peregil for shortness.
Like all the water-carriers he was a Gallego,
or native of Gallicia.

Peregil had begun business with merely
a great earthen jar which he carried upon
his shoulder; but by degrees he rose in the
world, and was enabled to purchase a don-

88

BtQtnb of t^t (moov'^ ^t^at^z

key. On each side of his long-eared com-
panion, in a kind of pannier, were slung his
water-jars, covered with fig-leaves to protect
them from the sun. There was not a more
industrious water-carrier in all Granada, nor
one more merry withal. The streets rang
with his cheerful voice as he trudged after
his donkey, singing the usual summer note
that resounds throughout the Spanish towns:

"Who wants water — water colder than
snow? Who wants water from the well of
the Alhambra, cold as ice and clear as
crystal ? "

When he served a customer with a spark-
ling glass, it was always with a pleasant word
that caused a smile; and if, perchance, it was
a comely dame or dimpling damsel, it was
always with a sly leer and a compliment to
her beauty that was irresistible. Thus Pere-
gil was noted throughout all Granada for
being one of the civilest, pleasantest, and
happiest of mortals. Yet it is not he who

89

sings loudest and jokes most that has the
lightest heart. Under all this air of merri-
ment, honest Peregil had his cares and
troubles. He had a large family of ragged
children to support, who were hungry and
clamorous as a nest of young swallows, and
beset him with their outcries for food when-
ever he came home of an evening.

He had a wife, too, who was anything but
a help to him. She had been a village beauty
before marriage, noted for her skill at danc-
ing the bolero and rattling the castanets; and
she still retained her early propensities,
spending the hard earnings of honest Peregil
in frippery, and laying the very donkey un-
der requisition for junketing parties into the
country on Sundays and Saints' Days, and
those innumerable holidays, which are rather
more numerous in Spain than the days of
the week. With all this she was a little of a
slattern, something more of a lie-abed, and,
above all, a gossip of the first water; neg-

90

&t^M}> of t^^ (Wloot'je^ Bt^at^

lecting house, household, and everything
else, to loiter slipshod in the houses of her
gossip neighbours.

He, however, who tempers the wind to
the shorn lamb, accommodates the yoke of
matrimony to the submissive neck. Peregil
bore all the heavy dispensations of wife and
children with as meek a spirit as his donkey
bore the water-jars ; and, however he might
shake his ears in private, never ventured to
question the household virtues of his slattern
spouse.

He loved his children, too, even as an owl
loves its owlets, seeing in them his own im-
age multiplied and perpetuated; for they
were a sturdy, long-backed, bandy-legged,
little brood. The great pleasure of honest
Peregil was, whenever he could afford him-
self a scanty holiday, to take the whole litter
with him, some in his arms, some tugging
at his skirts, and some trudging at his heels,
and to treat them to a gambol among the

91

orchards of the Vega, while his wife was
dancing with her holiday friends in the An-
gosturas of the Darro.

It was a late hour one summer night, and
most of the water-carriers had desisted from
their toils. The day had been uncommonly
sultry. The night was one of those delicious
moonlights which tempt the inhabitants of
summer climes to linger in the open until
after midnight. Customers for water were
therefore still abroad. Peregil, like a con-
siderate, painstaking father, thought of his
hungry children.

" One more journey to the well," said he
to himself, " to earn a Sunday's puchero for
the little ones."

So saying, he trudged up the steep avenue
of the Alhambra, singing as he went, and
now and then bestowing a hearty thwack
with a cudgel on the flanks of his donkey,
either by way of cadence to the song, or re-

92

JSi^5^b of t^(^ (Tnoov'0 &tQCiC^ '

freshment to the animal ; for dry blows serve
in lieu of provender in Spain for all beasts
of burden.

When arrived at the well, he found it de-
serted by every one except a solitary stranger
in Moorish garb, seated on a stone bench in
the moonlight. Peregil paused at first and
regarded him with surprise, not unmixed
with awe, but the Moor feebly beckoned him
to approach.

" I am faint and ill," said he : " aid me to
return to the city, and I will pay you double
what you could gain by your jars of water."

The honest heart of the little water-carrier
was touched at the appeal of the stranger.

" God forbid," said he, " that I should ask
fee or reward for doing an act of kindness,"

He accordingly helped the Moor on his
donkey, and set off slowly for Granada, the
poor Moslem being so weak that it was ne-
cessary to hold him on the animal to keep
him from falling to the ground.

93

When they entered the city, the water-
carrier demanded whither he should conduct
him.

"Alas!" said the Moor faintly, " I have
neither home nor habitation; lam a stranger
in the land. Suffer me to lay my head this
night beneath your roof, and you shall be
amply repaid."

Honest Peregil thus saw himself unex-
pectedly saddled with an infidel guest, but
he was too humane to refuse a night's shel-
ter to a fellow-being in so forlorn a plight;
so he conducted the Moor to his dwelling.
The children, who had sallied forth open-
mouthed, as usual, on hearing the tramp of
the donkey, ran back with affright when they
beheld the turbaned stranger and hid them-
selves behind their mother. The latter stepped
forth like a ruffling hen before her brood.

" What infidel companion," cried she, "is
this you have brought home at this late
hour?"

94

&tQtr(b of t^t (jnoot^if Bt^ac^

"Be quiet, wife," replied Peregil: "here
is a poor sick stranger, without friend or
home. Would you turn him forth to perish
in the streets?"

The wife would still have remonstrated,
for although she lived in a hovel, she was
a furious stickler for the credit of her house.
The little water-carrier, however, was for
once stiff-necked, and refused to bend be-
neath the yoke. He assisted the poor Moslem
to alight, and spread a mat and a sheepskin
for him on the ground, in the coolest part
of the house, being the only kind of bed
that he had.

In a little while the Moor was seized with
violent convulsions, which defied all the
skill of the water-carrier. He called Peregil
to his side and addressing him in a low voice :

" My end," said he, "I fear is at hand. If
I die, I bequeath you this box as a reward
for your charity."

So saying, he opened his cloak, and showed
95

a small box of sandal-wood, strapped round
his body.

" God grant, my friend," replied the little
Gallego, " that you may live many years to
enjoy your treasure, whatever it may be."

The Moor shook his head. He laid his
hand upon the box, and would have said
something more about it, but his convulsions
returned, and in a little while he expired.

The water-carrier's wife was now as one
distracted.

"This comes," said she, " of your foolish
good nature, always running into scrapes to
oblige others. What will become of us when
this corpse is found in our house ? We shall
be sent to prison as murderers."

Poor Peregil almost repented of having
done a good deed, for, in truth, he was as
distracted as his wife. At length a thought
struck him.

" It is not yet day," said he. " I can con-
vey the dead body out of the city, and bury

96

JS^(5enb of t^t (WVoot'j5 M^ac^

it in the sands on the banks of the Xenil.
No one saw the Moor enter our dwelling,
and no one will know anything of his death."
So said, so done. The wife aided him: they
rolled the body of the Moor in the mat on
which he had expired, laid it across the
donkey, and Peregil set out with it for the
banks of the river.

As ill-luck would have it, there lived op-
posite to the water-carrier a barber named
Pedrillo Pedrugo, one of the most prying,
tattling, and mischief-making of his gossip
tribe. He was a weasel-faced, spider-legged
varlet. The famous barber of Seville could
not surpass him for his universal knowledge
of the affairs of others, and he had no more
power of retention than a sieve. It was said
that he slept with but one eye at a time, and
kept one ear uncovered, so that even in his
sleep he might see and hear all that was
going on. Certain it is, he was a sort of

97

€aUB from t^t (^Cfamfim

chronicle for the quidnuncs of Granada, and
had more customers than all the rest of his
fraternity.

You may be sure that he heard Peregil
arrive at an unusual hour of the night. His
head was instantly popped out of a little win-
dow which served him as a look-out, and he
saw his neighbour assist a man in Moorish
garb into his dwelling. This was so strange
an occurrence, that Pedrillo Pedrugo slept
not a wink that night. Every five minutes
he was at his loophole, watching the lights
that gleamed through the chinks of PeregiPs
door, and before daylight he beheld Peregil
sally forth with his donkey unusually laden.

The barber was in a fidget. He slipped
on his clothes, and silently followed the water-
carrier at a distance, until he saw him dig a
hole in the sandy bank of the Xenil, and
bury the dead body.

He then went back to his shop. At sun-
rise he took a basin under his arm, and sal-

98

lied forth to the house of his daily customer,
the alcalde. The alcalde was just risen.
Pedrillo Pedrugo seated him in a chair,
threw a napkin round his neck, put a basin
of hot water under his chin, and began his
work.

" Strange doings," said he : " robbery and
murder and burial all in one night! "

" Hey ! — how ! — what is that you say ? "
cried the alcalde.

" I say," replied the barber, rubbing a piece
of soap over the nose and mouth of the dig-
nitary, — "I say that Peregil the Gallego has
robbed and murdered a Moor, and buried
him this blessed night. Accursed be the night
for the same ! "

" But how do you know all this ? " de-
manded the alcalde.

" Be patient, Senor, and you shall hear all
about it," replied Pedrillo, taking him by the
nose and sliding a razor over his cheek. He
then told all he had seen, shaving his beard,

99

and washing his chin, while he was robbing,
murdering, and burying the Moor.

Now it so happened that this alcalde was
one of the most overbearing and greedy
judges in all Granada. It could not be denied,
however, that he set a high value upon jus-
tice, for he sold it at its weight in gold. He
presumed the case in point to be one of mur-
der and robbery. Doubtless there must be a
rich spoil. It was not long before he had the
poor water-carrier before him.

"Hark you, culprit," roared he in a
voice that made little Peregil's knees shake,
"everything is known to me. A gallows is
the proper reward for the crime you have
committed, but I am merciful. The man
that has been murdered in your house was
a Moor, an infidel, the enemy of our faith.
Render up the property of which you have
robbed him, and we will hush the matter up."

The poor water-carrier called upon all the
saints, but alas! not one of them appeared.

lOO

BtQM'b of iS}t (ttloot^ief Bt^ctc^

He related the whole story of the dying
Moor truthfully, but it was all in vain.

"Will you persist in saying," demanded
the judge, "that this Moslem had neither
gold nor jewels?"

" He had nothing but a small box of san-
dal-wood," said Peregil, " which he gave me
in reward for my services."

"A box of sandal-wood! a box of san-
dal-wood!" exclaimed the alcalde, his eyes
sparkling at the idea of jewels. "And where
is this box? Where have you concealed it?"

" Please, your grace," replied the water-
carrier, " it is in one of the panniers of my
mule, and heartily at the service of your
worship."

He had hardly spoken the words, when
the keen alguazil darted off, and reappeared
in an instant with the box of sandal-wood.
The judge opened it with an eager and trem-
bling hand. All pressed forward to gaze
upon the treasure it was expected to con-

lOI

tain; when, to their disappointment, nothing
appeared within but a parchment scroll,
covered with Arabic characters, and an end
of a waxen taper.

The alcalde, finding that there was no
booty in the case, discharged Peregil from
arrest, permitting him to carry off the Moor's
legacy, the box of sandal- wood and its con-
tents; but alas, he kept his donkey in pay-
ment of costs and charges.

Poor unfortunate Peregil I He now had to
be his own water-carrier and trudge up to
the well of the Alhambra with a great earthen
jar upon his shoulder. As he toiled up the
hill in the heat of a summer noon, his usual
good humour forsook him.

" Dog of an alcalde ! " would he cry, " to
rob a poor man of the best friend he had in
the world!"

And then at the remembrance of his be-
loved companion, he would exclaim:
1 02

&^QM)> of t^t (JUoot'^ Bt^ac^i

"Ah, donkey of my heart! I warrant me
you think of your old master ! I warrant me
you miss the water-jars — poor beast! "

To add to his trouble, he had to endure
the railings and reproaches of his wife. He
was much grieved in flesh and spirit. At
length, one evening, when, after a hot day's
toil, she was scolding him as usual, he seized
the sandal-wood box, and dashed it to the
floor.

" Unlucky was the day I ever set eyes on
you," he cried, "or sheltered your master
beneath my roof."

As the box struck the floor, the lid flew
open, and the parchment scroll rolled forth.

"Who knows," thought Peregil, "but
this may be of some importance, as the
Moor seems to have guarded it with such
care ? "

Picking it up, therefore, he put it in his
bosom, and the next morning, as he was cry-
ing water through the streets, he stopped
103

€ciU0 ftom t^t ^(^antfim

at the shop of a Moor, a native of Tangiers,
and asked him to explain the contents.

The Moor read the scroll attentively.

" This manuscript," he said, " is a form
of incantation for the recovery of enchanted
treasures."

"Bah!" cried the little Gallego, "what is
all that to me ? I am no enchanter."

So saying, he took his water-jar and trudged
forward on his daily rounds.

That evening, however, as he rested him-
self about twilight at the well, he heard some
of the gossips who had gathered at the place
— they were as poor as rats — talking about
the enchanted riches left by the Moors
in different parts of the Alhambra. They
told marvellous tales of the treasures which
they believed were buried deep in the earth
under the tower of the s*even floors. These
stories made an unusual impression on the
mind of the honest Peregil, and they sank
deeper and deeper into his thoughts as
104

£e5<^b of ti}t (JUoOt'0 &tQCiC1^

he returned alone down the darkling ave-
nues.

"If, after all," thought he, "there should
be treasure hid beneath that tower; and if
the scroll I left with the Moor should enable
me to get at it!"

He well nigh let fall his water-jar at the
thought.

That night he tumbled and tossed, and
could scarcely get a wink of sleep for his
thoughts. Bright and early he went again to
the Moor's shop and told him all that was
passing in his mind. '

" You can read Arabic," said he : " sup-
pose we go together to the tower, and try
the effect of the charm; if it fails, we are
no worse off than before; but if it succeeds,
we will share equally all the treasure we
may discover."

"This writing is not sufficient of itself,"
said the Moor: "it must be read at midnight,
by the light of a taper singularly prepared of
105

certain ingredients, which are not within my
reach. Without such a taper the scroll is of
no avail."

"Say no more!" cried the little Gallego.
" I have such a taper at hand, and will bring
it here in a moment."

So saying, he hastened home, and soon re-
turned with the end of a yellow wax taper
that he had found in the box of sandal-wood.
The Moor smelt of it.

" Here are rare and costly perfumes," said
he. "While this burns, the strongest walls
and most secret caverns will remain open,
but woe to him who lingers within until it
goes out. He will remain enchanted with the
treasure."

It was now agreed between them to try the
charm that very night. At a late hour when
only bats and owls were stirring, they climbed
the woody hill of the Alhambra and made
their way to the awful tower. By the light of a
lantern the}^ groped their way through bushes,

1 06

&t^m^ of tSit QUoot'0 ^e^ac^

and over fallen stones, to the door of a vault
beneath. With fear and trembling they de-
scended a flight of steps cut into the rock. It
led to an empty chamber, damp and drear.
Then they went down another flight into a
deeper vault, and so on until they had gone
down four flights of stairs, and into four dif-
ferent vaults. The floor of the fourth was
solid. The air was damp and chilly. Here
they waited until they heard the clock in the
watchtower strike midnight. Then they lit
the taper which diffused an odour of myrrh
and frankincense and storax.

The Moor began to read in a hurried voice.
He had scarce finished when there was a
noise as of thunder beneath them. The earth
shook, and the floor opened, showing a flight
of steps. They went down and found them-
selves in another vault covered with Arabic
inscriptions. In the centre stood a great
chest, secured with seven bands of steel,
at each end of which sat an enchanted Moor
107

€ixk0 ftom t^t (Kt^ixm&xa

in armour. Before the chest were several
jars filled with gold and silver and precious
stones. In the largest of these they thrust
their arms up to the elbow, and at every
dip hauled forth handfuls of broad pieces of
Moorish gold, or bracelets and ornaments
of the same precious metal. Sometimes a
necklace of pearl would stick to their fingers.
And all the time the enchanted Moors sat
glaring at them with unwinking eyes.

They fancied they heard a noise from above
and both rushed up the staircase, falling over
each other as they went. They overturned
the waxen taper, and when it went out, the
floor closed again with a thundering sound.

Filled with dismay, they did not pause
until they had groped their wa}^ out of the
tower, and beheld the stars shining through
the trees. Then seating themselves upon the
grass, they divided their treasures and deter-
mined to return some night for more. To
make sure of each other's good faith, also,

08

' !^l^i? iJCjKey ia,ncled ikey keskrd a noise irom aWe |*^§.

&^Qtnb of tS}t (JTloot'0 Mit^ac^

they divided the talismans between them, one
taking the scroll, the other the taper. This
done, they set off with light hearts and well-
lined pockets for Granada.

As they wended their way down the hill,
the shrewd Moor whispered a word of coun-
sel in the ear of the simple little water-carrier.

" Friend Peregil," said he, " all this afTair
must be kept a profound secret until we have
secured the treasure, and conveyed it out of
harm's way. If a whisper of it gets to the ear
of the alcalde, we are undone!"

" Certainly," replied the Gallego, " no-
thing can be more true."

" Friend Peregil," said the Moor, '' you are
a discreet man, and can keep a secret, but you
have a wife."

"She shall not know a word of it," re-
plied the little water-carrier sturdily.

Never was promise more sincere; but
alas ! what man can keep a secret from his
wife? Certainly not such a one as Peregil
109

€ak& from t^t ^i^am&ta

the water-carrier. On his return home, he
found his wife moping in a corner.

"You've come at last," she cried," after
rambling about until this hour of the night.
I wonder you have not brought home another
Moor."

Then bursting into tears, she began to
wring her hands.

"What will become of us?" she cried.
"My husband a do-no-good that no longer
brings home bread to his family, but goes
rambling about day and night, with infidel
Moors! O my children! my children! what
will become of us ? We shall all have to beg
in the streets ! "

Honest Peregil was so moved by her tears
that he could not help whimpering also.
Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he hauled
forth three or four gold pieces, and slipped
them into her bosom. Then he took out a
golden chain and dangled it before her, all
the time smiling from ear to ear.
no

&^^Ml of tS}t (ttloot'j^ &^QClC^

" What have you been doing, Peregil ? "
exclaimed the wife. " Surely you have not
been committing robbery!"

But she became so sure of it, after the idea
entered her brain, that she fell into violent
weeping. What could the poor man do .^^ He
had no other way to ease her mind than to
tell her the whole story of his good fortune.
Her joy was boundless. And, of course, she
promised to keep the secret.

"Now, wife," exclaimed the little man
with honest exultation, " what say you now
to the Moor's legacy? Henceforth never
abuse me for helping a fellow-creature in
distress."

Peregil slept soundly that night. Not so
his wife. She emptied the whole contents of
his pockets upon the mat, and sat counting
gold pieces of Arabic coin, trying on neck-
laces and earrings, and fancying the figure
she should one day make when permitted to
enjoy her riches.

Ill

€cik0 ftrom t^t (glf^amfita

On the following morning the honest Gal-
lego sold one of the coins to a jeweller, and
with the money bought new clothes for his
little flock, and all kinds of toys, and good
things to eat, and returning to his dwelling,
set all his children dancing around him, while
he capered in their midst, the happiest of
fathers.

What was surprising, his wife kept the
secret. For a whole day and a half she went
about with a look of mystery and a heart al-
most bursting, yet she told not a word of it.
It is true, she gave herself a few airs. She
talked of buying a new basquiila all trimmed
with gold lace, and a new mantilla. She
threw out hints of her husband's intention of
leaving off his trade of water-carrying, as it
did not altogether agree with his health.

The gossips stared at each other and
thought she had lost her wits, and the mo-
ment her back was turned, they were quite
merry over her airs and graces. When she

112

jS^^^b of t^t Q!Uoot^0 M^aci^^

got home, she put a string of pearls round
her neck, bracelets on her arms, a diamond
aigrette on her head, and sailed backwards
and forwards in her rags, admiring herself
in a piece of broken mirror. And she could
not resist showing herself at the window to
enjoy the effect on the passers by.

As the fates would have it, Pedrillo Pe-
drugo, the meddlesome barber, was at this
moment sitting idly in his shop on the oppo-
site side of the street, when his ever-watch-
ful eye caught the sparkle of the diamonds.
In an instant he was at his loophole watching
Peregil's wife decorated with the splendour
of an eastern bride. No sooner had he taken
an accurate inventory of her ornaments than
he posted off with all speed to the alcalde,
and before the day was over the unfortunate
Peregil was once more dragged into the pre-
sence of the judge.

" How is this, villain! " cried the alcalde,
in a furious voice. " You told me that the
"3

^akB from t^t ^(^amfita

Moor who died in your house left nothing
behind but an empty coffer, and now I hear
of your wife flaunting in her rags decked out
with pearls and diamonds. Wretch that 3^ou
are ! Prepare to render up the spoils of your
miserable victim and to swing on the gal-
lows that is already tired of waiting for
you."

The terrified water-carrier fell on his knees
and confessed the whole secret. The Moor
was sent for. He entered half-frightened out
of his wits. When he beheld the water-car-
rier, he understood the whole matter.

" Miserable animal," said he, as he passed
near him, "did I not warn you against bab-
bling to your wife ? "

The story of the Moor coincided exactly
with that of Peregil : but the alcalde affected
to be slow of belief and threw out menaces
of imprisonment.

"Softly, good Senor Alcalde," said the
Moor, who by this time had recovered his
114

Se^enb of t^^ (ttloot?'0 B^^ac^

usual shrewdness and self-possession. " Let
us not mar fortune's favours in a scramble
for them. Nobody knows anything of this
matter but ourselves. Let us keep the secret.
There is wealth enough in the cave to en-
rich us all. Promise a fair division and all
shall be produced. Refuse, and the cave shall
remain for ever closed."

The alcalde consulted apart with the al-
guazil. The latter was a fox in his profession.

" Promise anything," said he, " until you
get possession of the treasure. You may then
seize upon the whole, and if they dare to
murmur, threaten them with the faggot and
the stake."

The alcalde relished the advice. Smooth-
ing his brow, and turning to the Moor, he
said:

" This is a strange story and may be true,
but I must have proof of it. This very night
you must repeat the incantation in my pre-
sence. If there be really such treasure, we
"5

will share it between us and say nothing fur-
ther of the matter. If you have deceived me,
expect no mercy at my hands."

Towards midnight they started out. Every-
thing turned out as before. The scroll was
produced, the yellow waxen taper was
lighted, and the Moor read the form of
incantation. The earth trembled, and the
pavement opened with a thundering sound,
disclosing the narrow flight of steps. The
alcalde, the alguazil, and the barber were
struck aghast, and could not summon cour-
age to descend. The Moor and the water-
carrier entered the lower vault, and found
the two Moors seated as before, silent and
motionless. They removed two of the great
jars, filled with golden coin and precious
stones. The water-carrier bore them up one
by one upon his shoulders and slung them
on each side of his donkey. Peregil staggered
beneath their weight, and they were as much
as the animal could bear.
ii6

&tQtnb of ti}t (VUoot^0 &t$CiC^^

" Let us be content for the present," said
the Moor. " Here is as much treasure as we
can carry off without being seen, and enough
to make us all wealthy."

"Is there more treasure remaining?" de-
manded the alcalde.

" The greatest prize of all," said the
Moor: "a huge coffer bound with bands
of steel, and filled with pearls and precious
stones."

"Let us have up the coffer by all means,"
cried the grasping alcalde.

"I will descend for no more," said the
Moor. "Enough is enough for a reasonable

man."

" And I," said the water-carrier, " will
bring up no further burden to break the back
of my poor donkey."

Finding commands, threats, and entreaties
equally vain, the alcalde turned to his two
adherents.

" Aid me," said he, " to bring up the cof-
117

fer, and its contents shall be divided between

us."

So saying, he descended the steps, fol-
lowed by the alguazil and the barber.

No sooner did the Moor behold them fairly
earthed than he blew out the yellow taper.
The pavement closed with its usual crash,
and the three remained buried.

He then hastened up the different flights
of steps, nor stopped until in the open air.
The little water-carrier followed him as fast
as his short legs would permit.

" What have you done ? " cried Peregil, as
soon as he could recover breath. " The alcalde
and the other two are shut up in the vault."

"It is the will of Allah!" said the Moor
devoutly.

"And will you not release them?" de-
manded the Gallego.

" Allah forbid ! " replied the Moor, smooth-
ing his beard. "It is written in the book of
fate that they shall remain enchanted until
ii8

&^QMl of tS}^ QfUoor'^ &tQCiC^i

some future time when the charm shall be
broken."

So saying, he hurled the waxen taper into
the gloomy thickets of the glen.

There was now no remedy, so the Moor and
Peregil, with the richly laden donkey, pro-
ceeded toward the city. The honest little
water-carrier was so happy to have his long-
eared companion restored to him once more,
that he could not refrain from hugging him.
It is doubtful which gave him the most joy
at that moment — the rich treasures, or the
recovery of his beloved donkey.

The two partners in good luck divided
their spoil fairly, except that the Moor made
out to get into his heap the most of the pearls
and precious stones, but then he always gave
the water-carrier in lieu magnificent jewels
of massive gold, of five times the size, with
which the latter was heartily content.

They took great care not to linger within
reach of accidents, but made off to enjoy
119

their wealth undisturbed in other countries.
The Moor returned to Africa, to his native
city of Tangiers, and the Gallego, with his
wife, his children, and his donkey, made the
best of his way to Portugal. Here he be-
came a personage of some consequence, for
his wife made him array his long body and
short legs in doublet and hose, with a feather
in his hat and a sword by his side — and
change his name to Don Pedro Gil. His
children grew up as merry hearted as him-
self, while Senora Gil, befringed, belaced,
and betasselled from her head to her heels,
with glittering rings on every finger, became
a model of fashion and finery.

As to the alcalde and his adjuncts, they
remained shut up under the great tower of
the seven floors, and there they remain spell-
bound at the present day.

Bejmb of i^t

Be^enb of (^t

N old times there reigned a
Moorish king in Granada,
whose name was Mohamed,
to which his subjects added
the title of " The Left-handed." Some say
he was so called on account of his being
really more expert with his left than his right
hand; others, because he was prone to take
ever37thing by the wrong end, or, in other
words, to mar wherever he meddled. Certain
it is he was continually in trouble. Thrice was
he driven from his throne, and on one occa-
sion barely escaped to Africa with his life,
dressed as a fisherman. Still he was as brave
as he was blundering; and, though left-hand-
ed, wielded his cimeter to such purpose that
he always succeeded in keeping his throne*
123

As this Mohamed was one day riding forth
with a train of his courtiers, he met a band
of horsemen returning from a foray into the
land of the Christians. They were conduct-
ing a long string of mules laden with spoil,
and many captives, among whom the mon-
arch was struck with the appearance of a
beautiful damsel, who sat weeping on a low
palfrey, and heeded not the consoling words
of a duenna who rode beside her.

The monarch noted her beauty, and on in-
quiring of the captain of the troop, found that
she was the daughter of an alcayde. Mohamed
claimed her as his royal share of the booty,
had her taken to the Alhambra, and soon
sought to make her his queen.

At first the Spanish maid would not listen
to him. He was an infidel, a foe to her
country, and, what was worse, he was stricken
in years!

Finding his addresses of no avail, Mo-
hamed decided to enlist in his favour the
124

services of the duenna, who had been cap-
tured with the lady. She was an Andalusian
whose name was Kadiga. No sooner had
he had a little private conversation with her
than she promised to undertake his cause
with her young mistress.

" Go to, now! " cried she. " What is there
in all this to weep and wail about? Is it not
better to be mistress of this beautiful palace,
with its gardens and fountains, than to be
shut up within your father's tower ? As to
this Mohamed being an infidel, what is that
to the purpose ? You marry him, not his re-
ligion. At any rate, you are in his power,
and must either be a queen or a slave."

The arguments of Kadiga prevailed. The
Spanish lady dried her tears, and became the
queen of Mohamed, the Left-handed. She
even conformed in appearance to the faith of
her royal husband.

In process of time, Mohamed was made
the happy father of three daughters, all born
125

at the same time, and, as was usual with
Moorish kings, he sent for his astrologers.

" Your daughters," said they, " will most
need your watchfulness when they arrive at
a marriageable age. At that time gather them
under your wings, and trust them to no one
else."

Mohamed the Left-handed had little fear
of not being able to outwit the fates, for he
considered himself a wise king, as did also
his courtiers.

Within a few years, the queen died, leav-
ing her infant daughters to his love, and to
the fidelity of Kadiga. Many years had yet
to pass before they would arrive at the period
of danger — the marriageable age.

"It is good, however, to be cautious in
time," said the shrewd Mohamed, so he de-
termined to have the princesses reared in a
distant castle, on the summit of a hill over-
looking the Mediterranean sea. It was a
royal retreat, and here they remained, separ-
136

ated from the world, but surrounded by every
pleasure.

In this abode, the three princesses grew
up into wondrous beauty; but, though all
reared alike, they gave early tokens of a dif-
ference of character. Their names were
Zayda, Zorayda and Zorahayda.

Zayda, the eldest, was of an intrepid spirit,
and took the lead of her sisters in every-
thing. She was curious and inquisitive, and
fond of getting at the bottom of things.

Zorayda had a great feeling for beauty,
which was the reason, no doubt, of her de-
lighting to regard her own image in a mirror
or a fountain, and of her fondness for flowers
and jewels, and other tasteful ornaments.

As to Zorahayda, the youngest, she was
soft and timid, and very sensitive, with a
vast deal of tenderness, as was evident from
her number of pet flowers, and pet birds, and
pet animals, all of which she cherished with
the fondest care.^Her amusements, too, were
127

€cik& from t^t (^C^amfim

of a gentle nature, and mixed with musing
and reverie. She would sit for hours in a
balcony, gazing on the stars of a summer's
night, or on the sea when lit up by the moon;
and at such times the song of a fisherman,
faintly heard from the beach, or the notes of
a Moorish flute, elevated her feelings into
ecstasy. The least uproar of the elements,
however, filled her with dismay, and a clap
of thunder was enough to throw her into a
swoon.

Years rolled on serenely. Kadiga was
faithful to her trust, and attended the three
princesses with unremitting care.

The castle, as has been said, was built
on the sea-coast. One of the outer walls
straggled down the hill, until it reached a
rock overhanging the sea. A small watch-
tower on this rock had been fitted up as a
/
pavilion, with latticed windows to admit the

sea-breeze. Here the princesses used to pass
the sultry hours of mid-day.
128

The curious Zayda was one day seated at
a window of the pavilion, as her sisters, re-
clining on ottomans, were taking their siesta,
when her attention was attracted to a gal-
ley which came coasting along. As it drew
near, she saw that it was filled with armed
men. The galley anchored at the foot of
the tower. A number of Moorish soldiers
landed on the narrow beach, conducting sev-
eral Christian prisoners.

Zayda awakened her sisters, and all
three peeped cautiously through the lattice.
Among the prisoners were three Spanish
cavaliers, richly dressed. They were youth-
ful and noble, and though loaded with chains
and surrounded with enemies, carried them-
selves in a lofty manner. The princesses had
been cooped up in the castle so long that it
is not to be wondered at that they should
gaze with breathless interest at three gallant
cavaliers in the pride of youth.

"Did ever nobler being tread the earth
129

than the cavalier in crimson ?" cried Zayda.
"See how proudly he bears himself, as
though all around him were his slaves ! "

" But notice the one in green! " exclaimed
Zorayda. "What grace! what elegance!
what spirit! "

The gentle Zorahayda said nothing, but
she secretly gave preference to the cavalier
in blue.

The princesses remained gazing until the
prisoners were out of sight, and then sat
down, musing and pensive, on their ottomans.

Kadiga found them in this situation, and
they related to her what they had seen.

" Poor youths ! " exclaimed she. " I '11 war-
rant their captivity makes many a fair and
high-born lady's heart ache in their native
land! Ah! my children, you have little idea
of the life these cavaliers lead in their own
country. Such devotion to the ladies ! Such
courting and serenading ! "

The curiosity of Zayda was fully aroused.
130

She plied the duenna with questions, and
drew from her tales of her youthful days
and native land.

The beautiful Zorayda slyly regarded her-
self in a mirror, when the theme turned
upon the charms of the Spanish ladies.

Zorahayda suppressed a sigh at the men-
tion of moonlight serenades.

Every day the curious Zayda renewed her
inquiries, and every day Kadiga repeated her
stories. The old woman awoke at length to
the mischief she might be doing. She had
been used to thinking of the princesses only
as children, but she realized now that there
bloomed before her three damsels of the
marriageable age.

" It is time," thought she, " to give notice
to the king."

Mohamed the Left-handed was seated one
morning on a divan in a cool hall of the Al-
hambra, when a slave arrived with a message
131

€cik0 ftom t^t (^t^cm&xa

from Kadiga, congratulating him on the an
niversary of his daughters' birthday. The
slave at the same time presented a delicate
little basket decorated with flowers, within
which lay a peach, an apricot, and a necta-
rine, all three in a stage of ripeness. The king
being versed in the language of fruits and
flowers at once understood the meaning of
this offering.

" So," said he, " the critical period pointed
out by the astrologers has arrived. My
daughters are at a marriageable age. What
is to be done ? They are shut up from the
eyes of men under the care of Kadiga — all
very good — but still they are not under
my own eye. I must gather them under my
wing, and trust them to no one else."

So saying, he ordered that a tower of the
Alhambra should be prepared for them, and
departed with his guards for the castle, to
conduct them home in person.

It had been three years since Mohamed
132

I

had beheld the princesses, and he could
scarcely believe his eyes at the wonderful
change which that small space of time had
made in them.

Zayda was tall and finely formed, with
a lofty manner. She entered with a stately
step, and made a profound reverence to Mo-
hamed, treating him more as her sovereign
than her father.

Zorayda was of the middle height, with
an alluring look heightened by the assistance
of the toilette. She approached her father with
a smile, kissed his hand, and recited several
stanzas from an Arabian poet. The king was
delighted.

Zorahayda was shy and timid, smaller
than her sisters, and with a beauty of that
tender kind which looks for fondness and pro-
tection. She was little fitted to command
like Zayda or to dazzle like Zorayda. She
drew near to her father, with a faltering
step, and would have taken his hand to
133

€(xk0 ftom i§e ^f^amfim

kiss, but on looking up into his face, and see-
ing it beam with a smile, she threw her arms
about his neck. ^

Mohamed the Left-handed looked at the
three princesses with mingled pride and per-
plexity, for while he exulted in their charms,
he bethought him of the prediction of the
astrologers.

" Three daughters ! three daughters ! " said
he to himself, " and all of a marriageable age !
Here 's tempting fruit that requires a dragon
watch !"

He prepared for his return to Granada by
sending heralds before him, commanding
every one to keep out of the road by which
he was to pass, and that all doors and win-
dows should be closed at their approach.
This done, they set forth.

The princesses rode beside the king,

closely veiled, on beautiful white palfreys.

The bits and stirrups were of gold and the

silk bridles were adorned with precious

134

stones. The palfreys were covered with little
silver bells, which made the most musical
tinkling as they ambled along. Woe to the
unlucky wight, however, who lingered in the
way when he heard the tinkling of these
bells! — the guards were ordered to cut him
down without mercy.

The cavalcade was drawing near to Gra-
nada, when it overtook, on the banks of the
river Xenil, a small body of Moorish soldiers
with some prisoners. It was too late for the
soldiers to get out of the way, so they threw
themselves on their faces on the earth, order-
ing their captives to do the like. Among the
prisoners were the three cavaliers whom the
princesses had seen from the pavilion. They
either did not understand, or were too proud
to obey the order, and remained standing and
gazing upon the cavalcade as it approached.

The ire of the monarch was kindled at this
defiance of his orders. Drawing his cimeter,
and pressing forward, he was about to deal
135

a left-handed blow that might have been
fatal to at least one of the gazers when the
princesses crowded round him, and implored
mercy for the prisoners.

Even the timid Zorahayda forgot her shy-
ness.

Mohamed paused, with uplifted cimeter,
when the captain of the guard threw himself
at his feet.

" Let not your highness," said he, " do a
deed that may cause great trouble through-
out the kingdom. These are three brave and
noble Spanish knights, who have been taken
in battle, fighting like lions. They are of
high birth, and may bring great ransoms."

" Enough ! " said the king. " I will spare
their lives, but they must be punished. Let
them be taken to the Vermilion Towers and
put to hard labour."

Mohamed was making one of his left-
handed blunders. In the tumult of this blus-
tering scene, the veils of the three princesses
136

^4£ iBSlkejttiiKes^ arm^eA rourAUm^im^otzim€K^&riitej^iiso«en

had been thrown back. In those days people
fell in love much more suddenly than at pre-
sent, as all ancient stories will tell you. And
therefore it is not a matter of wonder that
the hearts of the three cavaliers were com-
pletely captured, each of them with a sev-
eral beauty. As to the princesses, they were
more than ever struck with the noble de-
meanour of the three cavaliers.

The cavalcade resumed its march. The
princesses rode pensively along on their
tinkling palfreys, now and then glancing
back in search of the Christian captives who
were being conducted to their allotted pri-
son.

The residence provided for the princesses
was in a tower, somewhat apart from the
main palace of the Alhambra, though con-
nected with it by the wall which encircled
the whole summit of the hill. On one side
it looked into the interior of the fortress, and
* 137

had, at its foot, a small garden filled with
flowers. On the other side it overlooked
a deep embowered ravine, separating the
grounds of the Alhambra from those of the
Generalife.

The interior of the tower was divided
into small fairy apartments, ornamented in
light Arabian style, surrounding a lofty hall,
the roof of which rose almost to the summit
of the tower. The walls and ceilings of the
hall were adorned with arabesque and fret-
work, sparkling with gold and bright pen-
cilling. In the centre of the marble pavement
was an alabaster fountain, set round with
shrubs and flowers, and throwing up a jet of
water that cooled the whole place. Round
the hall were hung gold and silver cages,
containing singing birds.

The princesses had always been cheerful

when in the castle, and the king had expected

to see them enraptured with the Alhambra.

To his surprise, however, they began to pine

138

and grow melancholy, and dissatisfied with
everything around them. They did not like
the flowers — the song of the nightingale
disturbed their night's rest — and they were
out of all patience with the fountain with its
drop-drop and splash-splash, from morn-
ing till night and from night till morning.

The king at first took this in high displea-
sure. Then he reflected that his daughters
were no longer children.

j" They are women grown," said he, " and
need suitable objects to interest them."

He therefore had all the dressmakers and
jewellers in Granada set to work, and the
princesses were overwhelmed with robes of
silk and brocade, and cashmere shawls, and
necklaces of pearls and diamonds, and rings
and bracelets and anklets and all manner of
precious things.

All, however, was of no avail. They con-
tinued pale and languid in the midst of their
finery and looked like three blighted rose-
139

buds, drooping from one stalk. The king
was at his wits' end, and called in the aid of
the duenna.

" Kadiga," said he, " I wish you to find
out the secret malady that is preying upon
the princesses, and devise some means of re-
storing them to health and cheerfulness."

Kadiga promised obedience. In fact she
knew more of the malady of the princesses
than they did themselves.

" My dear children," said she, " what is
the reason you are so dismal and downcast
in so beautiful a place, where you have
everything that heart can wish?"

The princesses looked vacantl}^ round the
apartment, and sighed.

" What more, then, would you have ? Shall
I get you the wonderful parrot that talks all
languages ? "

" Odious ! " exclaimed the princess Zayda.
"A horrid, screaming bird, that chatters

without ideas."

140

¥

" Shall I send for a monkey from the rock
of Gibraltar, to divert you with his antics ? "

" A monkey ! faugh ! " cried Zorayda. " The
detestable mimic of man. I hate the animal."

" What say you to the famous black singer,
Casem, from Morocco? They say he has a
voice as fine as a woman's."

" I am terrified at the sight of these black
slaves," said the delicate Zorahayda. " Be-
sides I have lost all relish for music."

"Ah, my child, you would not say so,"
replied Kadiga slyly, "had you heard the
music I heard last evening from the three
Spanish cavaliers whom we met on our
journey. But bless me, children! what is
the matter that you are all in such a flutter } "

"Nothing, nothing, good mother: pray
proceed."

" Well, as I was passing by the tower last

evening, I saw the three cavaliers resting

after their day's labour. One was playing on

a guitar, and the others sang by turns, and

141

€akB from t§(^ f^i^am&xa

they did it in such style that the very guards
seemed like statues. Allah forgive me! I
could not help being moved at .hearing the
songs of my native country. And then to
see three such noble and handsome youths
in chains and slavery I "

Here the kind-hearted old woman could
not keep back her tears.

"Perhaps, mother, you could manage to
procure us a sight of these cavaliers," said
Zayda.

"I think," said Zorayda, "a little music
would be quite reviving."

The timid Zorahayda said nothing, but
threw her arms round the neck of Kadiga.

"Mercy on me!" cried she. "What are
you talking of, my children? Your father
would be the death of us all if he heard of
such a thing. To be sure, these cavaliers
seem well-bred and high-minded; but what
of that? They are the enemies of our faith,
and you must not think of them."
142

But her argument was of no avail. The
princesses hung around her and coaxed, and
declared that a refusal would break their
hearts.

What could she do ? She certainly was a
most faithful servant to the king. But was
she to see three beautiful princesses break
their hearts for the mere tinkling of a guitar ?
Besides, though she had been so long among
the Moors, she was a Spaniard born, and had
the lingerings of Christianity in her heart.
So she set about to contrive how the wish
of the princesses might be gratified.

The Christian captives, confined in the
Vermilion Towers, were under the charge
of a big-whiskered, broad-shouldered man,
called Hussein Baba, who was said to have
a most itching palm. Kadiga went to him
privately and slipped a broad piece of gold
into his hand.

" Hussein Baba," said she, " my mistresses
the three princesses who are shut up in the
H3

tower are in sad want of amusement. They
have heard of the musical talents of the
three Spanish cavaliers, and wish to hear
a specimen of their skill. I am sure you are
too kind-hearted to refuse so innocent a
request."

"What! and to have my head set grin-
ning over the gate of my own tower! for
that would be the reward if the king should
discover it"

" No danger of anything of the kind : the
affair may be managed so that the king will
know nothing about it. You know the deep
ravine outside the walls, which passes be-
low the tower. Put the three Christians to
work there, and at the intervals of their la-
bour, let them play and sing, as if for their
own pleasure. In this way the princesses
will be able to hear them from the windows
of the tower."

As the good old woman finished speaking,

she kindly pressed the rough hand of Hus-
144

sein Baba, leaving in it another piece of
gold.

The very next day the three cavaliers
were put to work in the ravine. During the
noontide heat, when their fellow labourers
were sleeping in the shade, and the guard
nodding at his post, they seated themselves
at the foot of the tower and sang a Spanish
roundelay to the music of the guitar.

The glen was deep, the tower was high,
but their voices rose distinctly in the still-
ness of the summer noon.

The princesses listened from their bal-
cony. They had been taught the Spanish
language by their duenna, and were moved
by the tenderness of the song. Kadiga, on
the contrary, was terribly shocked.

"Allah preserve us!" cried she. "They
are singing a song addressed to yourselves.
I will run to the slave-master and have them
punished."

But the three princesses were filled with
H5

€ixkB from t^t (^t^am&xa

horror at the idea. Besides the music seemed
to have a beneficial effect upon them. Their
eyes sparkled, and a bloom came to their
cheeks, so with all her indignation, Kadiga
was soon appeased and made no further ob-
jection to the song.

When it was finished, Zorayda took up a
lute, and with a sweet, though faint and
trembling voice, warbled a little Arabian
air, the burden of which was :

" The rose is concealed among her leaves,
but she listens with delight to the song of
the nightingale."

From this time forward the cavaliers
worked almost daily in the ravine. Hus-
sein Baba became more and more indulgent
and daily more prone to sleep at his post.
By degrees the princesses showed them-
selves at the balcony, when they could do
so without being seen by the guards, and
conversed with the cavaliers. The change
effected in their looks and spirits surprised
146

and gratified the left-handed king, but no
one was more elated than Kadiga, who
considered it all owing to her able manage-
ment.

At length there was an interruption. For
several days the cavaliers ceased to make
their appearance in the glen. The princesses
looked out from the tower in vain. In vain
they stretched their swan-like necks from
the balcony: in vain they sang like captive
nightingales in their cage. Nothing was to
be seen of their Christian lovers — not a note
responded from the groves. Kadiga sallied
forth in quest of intelligence, and soon re-
turned with a face full of trouble.

"Ah, my children!" cried she. "I saw
what all this would come to, but you would
have your way. You may now hang your
lutes on the willows. The Spanish cavaliers
are ransomed by their families. They are
down in Granada preparing to return to
their native country."
147

The three beautiful princesses were in de-
spair at the tidings.

Zayda was indignant at the slight put upon
them, in thus being deserted without a part-
ing word.

Zorayda wrung her hands and cried, and
looked in the glass and wiped away her tears,
and cried afresh.

The gentle Zorahayda leaned over the bal-
cony and wept in silence, and her tears fell
drop by drop among the flowers where the
faithless cavaliers had so often been seated.

Kadiga did all in her power to soothe their
sorrow.

"Take comfort, my children," said she,
"this is nothing when you are used to it.
This is the way of the world. Ah I when you
are as old as I am, you will know how to
value these men. I '11 warrant these cavaliers
have their loves among the Spanish beauties
of Cordova and Seville, and will soon be sere-
nading under their balconies, and thinking no
148

more of the Moorish beauties in the Alham-
bra. Take comfort, therefore, my children,
and drive them from your thoughts."

But the words of Kadiga only redoubled
their distress, and for two days they could not
be consoled. On the morning of the third, the
good old woman entered their apartment all
ruffling with indignation.

"Who would have believed such insolence
in mortal man!" exclaimed she, as soon as
she could find words to speak. " But I 'm
rightly served for helping to deceive your
worthy father. Never talk more to me of
your Spanish cavaliers."

" Why, what has happened, good Kadiga ? "
exclaimed the princesses.

"What has happened? — treason has been
proposed ; and to me, the trustiest of duennas !
Yes, my children, the Spanish cavaliers dared
to ask me to persuade you to fly with them
to Cordova, and become their wives ! "

Here Kadiga covered her face with her
149

hands, and gave way to a violent burst of
grief. The three beautiful princesses turned
pale and red and trembled, and looked at
each other, but said nothing. Meantime the
old woman sat rocking backward and for-
ward in violent agitation.

At length the eldest princess, who had
the most spirit and always took the lead, ap-
proached her, and laid her hand upon her
shoulder.

"Well, mother," said she, "supposing we
were willing to fly with these Christian cava-
liers— is such a thing possible?"

Kadiga paused suddenly.

"Possible," echoed she, "to be sure it is
possible. Have not the cavaliers already
bribed Hussein Baba to arrange the whole
plan ? But then, to think of deceiving your
father!"

And here she gave way to a fresh burst of
grief.

" But our father has never placed anycon-
150

fidence in us," said the eldest princess, "but
has trusted to bolts and bars, and treated us
as captives."

"Why, that is true enough," replied the
old woman, again pausing in her grief: "he
has indeed treated you unreasonably, keep-
ing you shut up here in a moping old tower,
like roses left to wither in a flower-jar. But
then, to fly from your native land ! "

" And is not the land we fly to the native
land of our mother, where we shall live in
freedom? And shall we not each have a
youthful husband in exchange for a severe
old father?"

"Why, that again is all very true, but
what then," again giving way to grief,
"would you leave me behind to bear the
brunt of his displeasure ? "

" By no means, my good Kadiga: cannot
you fly with us ? "

"Very true, my child, and to tell the
truth, when I talked the matter over with
151

Hussein Baba, he promised to take care of
me, if I would fly with you. But then, be-
think you, children, are you willing to re-
nounce the faith of your father ? "

" The Christian faith was the original
faith of our mother," said Zayda. " I am
ready to embrace it, and so, I am sure, are
my sisters."

" Right again," exclaimed the old woman,
brightening up. "It was the original faith of
your mother, and bitterly did she lament, on
her death-bed, that she had renounced it.
I promised her then to take care of your
souls, and I rejoice to see that they are now
in a fair way to be saved. Yes, my children,
I too was born a Christian, and have re-
mained a Christian in my heart, and am re-
solved to return to the faith. I have talked
with Hussein Baba, who is a Spaniard, by
birth, and comes from a place not far from
my native town. He is equally anxious to
see his own country, and the cavaliers have
152

promised that if we are disposed to become
man and wife, on returning to our native
land, they will provide for us handsomely."

In a word, it appeared that Kadiga had
consulted with the cavaliers and Hussein
Baba, and had made the whole plan of
escape.

Zayda and Zorayda agreed to the plan at
once, but Zorahayda hesitated, for she was
gentle and timid of soul. At last, however,
with silent tears and stifled sighs, she pre-
pared herself for flight.

In old times, the rugged hill on which the
Alhambra is built had many underground
passages cut through the rock, leading from
the fortress to various parts of the city, and
to distant sally-ports on the banks of the
Darro and Xenil. They had been built at
different times by the Moorish kings, as a
means of escape from sudden insurrections,
and by one of these passages Hussein Baba
had undertaken to conduct the princesses
153

beyond the walls of the city, where the cava-
liers were to be ready with fleet steeds, to
bear the whole party over the borders.

The appointed night arrived. The tower
of the princesses had been locked up as
usual, and the Alhambra was buried in deep
sleep. Towards midnight, Kadiga listened
from the balcony of a window that looked
into the garden. Hussein Baba was already
below, and gave the signal. The duenna
fastened the end of a ladder of ropes to the
balcony, lowered it into the garden and
descended. The two eldest princesses fol-
lowed with beating hearts, but when it
came to Zorahayda, she hesitated and trem-
bled. Several times she placed her foot upon
the ladder, and as often drew it back, while
her poor little heart fluttered more and more
the longer she delayed. She cast a wistful
look back into the silken chamber. She had
lived in it, to be sure, like a bird in a cage,
154

but within it she was secure. Who could
tell what dangers might beset her, should
she flutter forth into the wide world ! Now
she bethought her of her Christian lover,
and her little foot was instantly upon the
ladder: and anon she thought of her father
and shrank back.

In vain her sisters implored, the duenna
scolded, and Hussein Baba blasphemed be-
neath the balcony. The gentle Moorish maid
stood doubting and wavering. Every mo-
ment increased the danger of discovery. A
distant tramp was heard.

" The patrols are walking their rounds ! "
cried Hussein Baba. " If we linger, we perish.
Princess, descend instantly or we leave you."

Zorahayda was for a moment in fearful
agitation; then loosening the ladder of ropes,
she flung it from the balcony.

" It is decided ! " cried she : " flight is now
out of my power! Allah guide and bless you,
my dear sisters ! "

^55

The two eldest princesses were shocked
at the thoughts of leaving her behind, and
would fain have lingered, but the patrol was
advancing, Hussein Baba was furious, and
they were hurried away to the passage. They
groped their way through the heart of the
mountain, and succeeded in reaching an iron
gate that opened outside of the walls. The
Spanish cavaliers were waiting to receive
them, disguised as Moorish soldiers.

The lover of Zorahayda was frantic when
he learned that she had refused to leave the
tower, but there was no time to waste in lam-
entations. The two princesses were placed
behind their lovers, Kadiga mounted behind
Hussein Baba, and they all set off at a round
pace in the direction of the Pass of Lope,
which leads through the mountains towards
Cordova.

They had not gone very far when they
heard the noise of drums and trumpets from
the battlements of the Alhambra.
156

" Our flight is discovered! " said Hussein
Baba.

"We have fleet steeds, the night is dark,
and we may distance all pursuit," replied the
cavaliers.

They put spurs to their horses, and scoured
across the Vega. When they reached the
foot of the mountain of Elvira, Hussein Baba
paused and listened.

" As yet," said he, "there is no one on our
traces. We shall make good our escape to
the mountains."

,While he spoke a light blaze sprung up
on the top of the watch-tower of the Al-
hambra.

"Confusion!" cried he, "that bale fire
will put all the guards of the passes on the
alert. Away! away! Spur like mad — there
is no time to be lost."

Away they dashed — the clattering of their
horses' hoofs echoed from rock to rock, as
they swept along the road. As they galloped
157

€(Xk0 from t^^ (^f^amfitra

on, the bale fire of the Alhambra was an-
swered in every direction. Light after light
blazed on the watch-towers of the mountains.

" Forward ! forward ! " cried Hussein Baba,
" to the bridge, before the alarm has reached
there!"

They doubled the mountains and arrived
in sight of the famous Bridge of Pinos that
crosses a rushing stream. To their confusion,
the tower of the bridge blazed with lights
and glittered with armed men.

Hussein Baba pulled up his steed, rose in
his stirrups and looked about him for a mo-
ment; then beckoning to the cavaliers, he
struck off from the road, skirted the river
for some distance, and dashed into its waters.
The cavaliers called upon the princesses to
cling to them, and did the same. They were
borne for some distance down the rapid cur-
rent, the surges roared round them, but the
princesses clung to their Christian knights,
and never uttered a complaint. The cavaliers
158

attained the opposite bank in safety, and Hus-
sein Baba conducted them, by rude and un-
frequented paths, through the heart of the
mountains, so as to avoid all the regular passes.
In a word they succeeded in reaching the
ancient city of Cordova.

Their restoration to their country and
friends was celebrated with great rejoicings,
for they were of the noblest families. The
beautiful princesses were forthwith received
into the bosom of the Church, and after being
in all due form made Christians, were rend-
ered happy wives.

In our hurry to make good the escape of
the princesses across the river, and up the
mountains, we forgot to mention the fate of
Kadiga. She had clung, like a cat, to Hussein
Baba in the scamper across the Vega, scream-
ing at every turn, and w^hen he prepared to
plunge his steed into the river, her terror
knew no bounds.

>59

" Grasp me not so tightly," cried Hussein
Baba. "Hold on my belt and fear nothing."

She held firmly with both hands by the
leather belt, but when he halted with the
cavaliers to take breath on the mountain
summit, the duenna was no longer to be seen.

" What has become of Kadiga ? " cried the
princesses in alarm.

"Allah alone knows!" replied Hussein
Baba. "My belt came loose in the midst of
the river, and Kadiga was swept with it down
the stream. The will of Allah be done! But
it was an embroidered belt and of great
price."

There was no time to waste in idle regrets ;
yet bitterly did the princesses bewail the loss
of their faithful duenna. That excellent old
woman, however, did not lose more than
half of her nine lives in the water. A fish-
erman, who was drawing his nets some
distance down the stream, brought her to
land, and he was not a little astonished at his

1 60

miraculous draught. What further became of
her, the story does not tell; but it is certain
that she never ventured within reach of Mo-
hamed the Left-handed.

Almost as little is known of the conduct
of that wise monarch when he discovered
the escape of his daughters, and the deceit
practised upon him by the most faithful of
servants. It was the only instance in which
he had called in the aid of counsel, and he
was never afterwards known to be guilty of
a similar weakness.

He took good care, however, to guard his
remaining daughter who had no disposition
to elope. It is thought, indeed, that she
secretly repented having remained behind.
Now and then she was seen leaning on the
battlements of the tower, and looking in the
direction of Cordova, and sometimes the
notes of her lute were heard as she sang
plaintive songs in which she was said to la-
ment the loss of her sisters and her lover,
i6i

and to bewail her solitary life. She died
young, and, according to popular rumour,
was buried in a vault beneath the tower, and
her untimely fate has given rise to more than
one traditionary fable.

Be^m^ of

t^t (Bo0e of t^i (gt^miu

Be^m^ of
tpe (Ko^e of (^t @f^ain6ta

*OR some time after the sur-
render of Granada by the
Moors, that deh'ghtful city was
a frequent and favourite resi-
dence of the Spanish kings, until they were
frightened away by shocks of earthquakes,
which toppled down houses, and made the
old Moslem towers rock.

Many, many years then rolled away, dur-
ing which Granada was rarely honoured by a
royal guest. The palaces remained silent and
shut up, and the Alhambra, like a slighted
beauty, sat mournfully among her neglected
gardens. The tower, which was once the
residence of the three beautiful princesses,
partook of the general desolation. The spi-
der spun her web across the gilded vault,

165

'tak0 from t^t ^{^amfita

and bats and owls nestled in those chambers
that had been graced by the presence of
Zayda, Zorayda, and Zorahayda. The ne-
glect of this tower may have been partly
owing to some superstitious notions of the
neighbours. It was said that the spirit of Zo-
rahayda was often seen by moonlight seated
beside the fountain in the hall, or heard
moaning about the battlements, and that the
notes of her silver lute could be heard at
midnight by wayfarers passing along the
glen.

At length the city was once more to wel-
come the king and queen, and the Alhambra
was repaired and fitted up with all possible
expedition for the visit. The arrival of the
court changed the whole aspect of the lately
deserted palace. The clamour of drum and
trumpet, the tramp of steed about the ave-
nues, the glitter of arms and display of ban-
ners, recalled the ancient and warlike glories
i66

€^^ (Ho0e of t^^ @f§am6m

of the fortress. Within the palace, there was
the rustling of robes and the cautious tread
and murmuring voice of courtiers about the
ante-chambers, a loitering of pages and
maids of honour about the gardens, and
the sound of music stealing from open case-
ments.

Among those who attended in the train of
the monarchs was a favourite page of the
queen, named Ruyz de Alarcon. He was just
turned of eighteen, light and lithe of form,
and very graceful. To the queen he was all
deference and respect, yet he was at heart a
roguish stripling, petted and spoiled by the
ladies about the court.

This loitering page was one morning ram-
bling about the groves of the Generalife, and
had taken with him for his amusement a fa-
vourite ger-falcon of the queen. In the course
of his rambles, seeing a bird rising from a
thicket, he unhooded the hawk and let him
fly. The falcon towered high in the air, made
167

a swoop at his quarry, but missing it, soared
away, regardless of the calls of the page.
The page followed the bird with his eye,
until he saw it alight upon the battlements
of a remote and lonely tower, in the outer
wall of the Alhambra, built on the edge of
a ravine that separated the fortress from the
grounds of the Generalife. It was, in fact, the
^f Tower of the Princesses."

The page descended into the ravine and
approached the tower, but it had no entrance
from the glen, and its lofty height made any
attempt to scale it useless. Seeking one of
the gates of the fortress, therefore, he made
a wide circuit to that side of the tower facing
within the walls.

A small garden overhung with myrtle lay
before the tower. Opening a wicket, the page
passed between beds of flowers and thickets
of roses to the door. It was closed and
bolted. A crevice in the door gave him a
peep inside. There was a small Moorish
1 68

t^t (Ro^e of t^t (^C^amfim

hall with fretted walls, light marble columns,
and an alabaster fountain surrounded with
flowers.. In the centre hung a gilt cage con-
taining a singing-bird. Beneath it, on a chair,
lay a tortoise-shell cat among reels of silk,
and a guitar leaned against the fountain.

Ruyz de Alarcon was struck with these
traces of female taste in a lonely, and, as he
had supposed, deserted tower. They re-
minded him of the tales of the enchanted hall
of the Alhambra; and the tortoise-shell cat
might be some spell-bound princess.

He knocked gently at the door. A beau-
tiful face peeped out from a little window
above, but was instantly withdrawn. He
waited, expecting that the door would be
opened, but he waited in vain. No footstep
was to be heard within — all was silent.
Had his senses deceived him, or was this
beautiful apparition the fairy of the tower?
He knocked again, and more loudly. After
a little while the beaming face once more
169

€citt0 from t^t (^t^am&xa

peeped forth. It was that of a blooming dam-
sel of fifteen.

The page immediately doffed his plumed
bonnet, and entreated in the most courteous
way to be permitted to ascend the tower in
pursuit of his falcon.

" I dare not open the door, Senor," replied
the little damsel : " my aunt has forbidden

it."

" I do beseech you, fair maid — it is the
favourite falcon of the queen. I dare not re-
turn to the palace without it."

"Are you then one of the cavaliers of the
court ? "

"I am, fair maid. But I shall lose the
queen's favour and my place if I lose this
hawk."

" Santa Maria! It is against you cavaliers
of the court my aunt has charged me spe-
cially to bar the door."

"Against wicked cavaliers doubtless, but
I am none of these, only a simple harmless
170

t^t (Ro0e of t^t (^i^am&xa

page, who will be ruined and undone if you
deny me this small request."

The heart of the little damsel was touched
by the distress of the page. It was a thou-
sand pities he should be ruined for the want
of so trifling a boon. Surely he could not be
one of those dangerous beings whom her
aunt had described. He was gentle and mod-
est, and stood so entreatingly with cap in
hand, and looked so charming.

The page redoubled his entreaties in such
moving terms that it was not in the nature
of mortal maiden to deny him, and the little
warden of the tower descended and opened
the door. The page was charmed with her
appearance. Her Andalusian bodice and
trim basquifia set off her round form. Her
glossy hair was parted on her forehead and
decorated with a fresh plucked rose, accord-
ing to the custom of Spain. It is true her
complexion was tinged with the southern
sun, but it served to give richness to the
171

bloom of her cheek, and heighten the lustre
of her eyes.

Ruyz de Alarcon beheld all this with a
single glance, for it became him not to tarry.
He thanked her, and then bounded lightly up
the spiral staircase in quest of his falcon.

He soon returned with the truant bird
upon his fist. The damsel, in the meantime,
had seated herself by the fountain in the hall
and was winding silk. In her agitation she
let the reel fall upon the pavement. The
page sprang and picked it up, then dropping
on one knee, presented it to her. In doing
so, he seized her hand, and imprinted on it a
kiss more fervent than he had ever imprinted
on the fair hand of his sovereign.

"Ave Maria, Senor," exclaimed the damsel.

The page made a thousand apologies, as-
suring her that it was the way at court of ex-
pressing the most profound homage.

Just then a shrill voice was heard at a dis-
tance.

172

tS}t (Ro0e of f^e (^t^am&xa

" My aunt is returning from mass ! " cried the
damsel in affright. " I pray you, Senor, depart."

"Not until you grant me that rose from
your hair as a remembrance."

She hastily untwisted the flower.

" Take it," cried she, " but pray begone."

The page took the rose, again kissing the
fair hand that gave it. Then placing the
flower in his bonnet, and taking the falcon
upon his fist, he bounded off through the
garden, bearing away with him the heart of
the gentle Jacinta.

When the aunt arrived at the tower, she
remarked the agitation of her niece, and an
air of confusion in the hall.

" A ger-falcon pursued his prey into the
hall," said Jacinta.

" Mercy on us ! " said the aunt. "To think
of a falcon flying into the tower. Did ever
one hear of so saucy a hawk?"

The aunt's name was Fredegonda and she
was one of the most wary of ancient spin-
173

sters. Jacinta was the orphan of an officer
who had fallen in the wars. She had been
educated in a convent, and had only recently
been placed under the care of her aunt. Her
fresh and dawning beauty had caught the pub-
lic eye, even in her seclusion, and with that
poetical turn common to the people of An-
dalusia, the peasantry of the neighbourhood
had given her the name of " The Rose of the
Alhambra."

The wary aunt kept a faithful watch over
her little niece till at length the king cut short
his sojourn at Granada, and departed with
his court. Fredegonda watched the royal
pageant as it issued from the gate and de-
scended the great avenue leading to the city.
When the last banner disappeared from her
sight, she returned exulting to her tower, for
all her cares were over.

To her surprise, a light Arabian steed
pawed the ground at the wicket gate of her
garden. To her horror she saw through the
174

t^t (Ro0e of t^t (^l^cm&xa

thickets of roses a youth in gayly embroidered
dress at the feet of her niece. At the sound
of her footsteps he gave a tender adieu,
bounded lightly over the barrier of reeds and
myrtles, sprang upon his horse, and was out
of sight in an instant.

The tender Jacinta, in the agony of her
grief, lost all thought of her aunt's displea-
sure. Throwing herself into her arms, she
broke into sobs and tears.

"He's gone! — he's gone!" she cried,
"and I shall never see him more!"

"Gone! — who is gone? — what youth is
that I saw at your feet?"

"A queen's page, aunt, who came to bid
me farewell."

"A queen's page, child!" echoed Frede-
gonda, " and when did you become acquainted
with the queen's page ? "

"The morning that the ger-falcon came
into the tower. It was the queen's ger-falcon,
and he came in pursuit of it."

175

"Ah silly, silly girl I" said the indignant
aunt. "There are no ger-falcons half so dan-
gerous as these young prankling pages, and
it is precisely such simple birds as you that
they pounce upon."

Days, weeks, months elapsed, and nothing
more was heard of the page. The pome-
granate ripened, the vine yielded up its fruit,
the autumn rains came down in torrents from
the mountains, and the Sierra Nevada be-
came covered with a snowy mantle. Still he
did not come. The winter passed away.
Again the genial spring burst forth with song
and blossom. Still nothing was heard of the
forgetful page.

In the meantime poor little Jacinta grew
pale and thoughtful. Her former occupations
and amusements were abandoned, her silk
lay entangled, her flowers were neglected,
and her eyes were dimmed with weeping.

"Alas, silly child! " the staid Fredegonda
176

tS}t (Ro0^ of t^t (ac^amfira

would say. "What could you expect from
one of a haughty family — you an orphan,
the descendant of a fallen line? Be assured,
if the youth were true, his father, who is one
of the proudest nobles about the court, would
prohibit his union with one so humble and
portionless as you. Therefore, drive these
idle notions from your mind."

But the words of Fredegonda only served
to increase Jacinta's melancholy.

At a late hour one midsummer night, after
her aunt had gone to rest, Jacinta remained
alone in the hall of the tower, seated beside
the alabaster fountain. The poor little dam-
sel's heart was overladen with sad recollec-
tions, her tears began to flow, and slowly fell
drop by drop into the fountain. By degrees
the water became agitated, and — bubble —
bubble — bubble — boiled up and was tossed
about, until a female figure, richly clad in
Moorish dress, slowly rose to view.
177

Jacinta was so frightened that she fled from
the hall, and was afraid to return. The next
morning she related to her aunt what she had
seen, but the good lady thought she had fallen
asleep and dreamt beside the fountain.

"You have been thinking of the story of
the three Moorish princesses that once lived
in this tower," said she, " and it has entered
into your dreams."

"What story, aunt? I know nothing of it."

"You have certainly heard of the three
princesses, Zayda, Zorayda and Zorahayda,
who were shut up in this tower by the king,
their father, and agreed to fly with three
Christian cavaliers. The first two accom-
plished their escape, but the third failed in
her resolution, and, it is said, died in this

tower."

" I now remember to have heard it," said
Jacinta, "and to have wept over the fate of
the gentle Zorahayda."

"You may well weep," continued the aunt,
178

t^t (Ro0e of t^t (^f^amfitd

'^for the lover of Zorahayda was your an-
cestor. He long bemoaned his fate, but time
cured him of his grief, and he married a
Spanish lady from whom you are descended."

"If indeed it be the spirit of the gentle
Zorahayda, which I have heard lingers about
this tower, of what should I be afraid?"
thought Jacinta. "I '11 watch by the fountain
to-night — perhaps the visit will be repeated."

Towards midnight, when everything was
quiet, she again took her seat in the hall.
As the bell in the distant watch-tower struck
the midnight hour, the fountain was again
agitated: and bubble — bubble — bubble —
it tossed about the waters until the Moorish
woman again rose to view. She was young
and beautiful. Her dress was rich with jew-
els, and in her hand she held a silver lute.
Jacinta trembled and was faint, but was re-
assured by the soft and plaintive voice of the
apparition.

" Daughter of mortality," said she, " why
179

do your tears trouble my fountain, and your
sighs disturb the quiet watches of the night ? "

"I weep because of the faithlessness of
man, and I bemoan my solitary and forsaken
state."

"Take comfort. Your sorrows may yet
have an end. Behold in me a Moorish prin-
cess, who was, like you, unhappy. A Chris-
tian knight, your ancestor, would have borne
me to his native land, but I lacked courage
equal to my faith, and lingered till too late.
For this the evil genii have power over me,
and I remain enchanted in this tower until
some pure Christian will deign to break the
magic spell. Will you undertake the task.? "

" I will," replied Jacinta, trembling.

"Come hither, then, and fear not. Dip
your hand in the fountain, sprinkle the water
over me, and baptize me after the manner of
your faith. So shall the enchantment be dis-
pelled, and my troubled spirit have repose."

Jacinta advanced with faltering steps,
i8o

t^t (Uo0e of t^t (?lC§am6ta

dipped her hand into the fountain, collected
water in the palm, and sprinkled it over the
pale face of the phantom.

The latter smiled benignly. She dropped
her silver lute at the feet of Jacinta, crossed
her white arms, and melted from sight, so
that it seemed merely as if a shower of dew-
drops had fallen into the fountain.

Jacinta retired from the hall filled with
awe and wonder. She scarcely closed her
eyes that night; but when she awoke at day-
break out of a troubled slumber, the whole
appeared to her like a dream. On descend-
ing into the hall, however, she beheld the
silver lute lying beside the fountain, glitter-
ing in the morning sunshine.

She hastened to her aunt, to relate all that
had befallen her, and called her to behold
the lute as a proof of the reality of her story.
If the good lady had any doubts, they were
removed when Jacinta touched the instru-
ment, for she played such a beautiful melody

that Fredegonda's frigid heart was entirely
thawed, and nothing but supernatural music
could have produced such an effect.

The power of the lute became every day
more and more apparent. The wayfarer,
passing by the tower, was detained, as it
were, spell-bound. The very birds gathered
in the trees, and, hushing their own strains,
listened in charmed silence. Rumour soon
spread the news abroad. The inhabitants of
Granada thronged to the Alhambra to catch
a few notes of the wonderful music that
floated about Jacinta's tower.

The lovely little minstrel was at length
drawn from her retreat. The rich and power-
ful of the land contended who should enter-
tain and do honour to her. Wherever she
went, her vigilant aunt kept a dragon watch
at her elbow, awing the throngs of ad-
mirers who listened to her strains. The re-
port of her wonderful powers spread from
city to city. Malaga, Seville, Cordova, all
182

te^t (Ro0^ of t^t (^t^am&xa

became mad on the theme. Nothing was
talked of throughout Andalusia but the beau-
tiful minstrel of the Alhambra.

While all Andalusia was thus music mad,
a different mood prevailed at the court of
Spain. The king, as was well known, was
subject to all kinds of fancies. Sometimes
he would keep to his bed for weeks together,
groaning under imaginary complaints. At
other times he would insist upon abdicating
his throne, to the great annoyance of his
royal spouse, who had a strong relish for
the splendours of a court and the glories of
a crown, and guided the sceptre of her lord
with an expert and steady hand.

At the moment we treat of, a freak had
come over the mind of the king that sur-
passed all former moods. After a long spell
of imaginary illness, the monarch, fairly in
idea, gave up the ghost, and considered him-
self absolutely dead.

183

This would have been harmless enough,
and even convenient both to the queen and
courtiers, had he been content to remain in
the quietude befitting a dead man. But to
their annoyance, he insisted upon having the
funeral ceremonies performed over him, and
began to grow impatient because they left
him unburied.

In the midst of this fearful dilemma, a
rumour reached the court of the female min-
strel who was turning the brains of all An-
dalusia. Nothing was so efficacious in dis-
pelling the royal megrims as the power of
music, so the queen dispatched messengers
in all haste to summon Jacinta to the court.

Within a few days, as the queen with her
maids of honour was walking in the stately
gardens of the palace, the far-famed minstrel
was conducted into her presence. The queen
gazed with surprise at the youthful and un-
pretending appearance of the little being that
184

te}t (^oBt of tS}t (^f^amfim

had set the world madding. She was in her
picturesque Andalusian dress, her silver lute
in hand, and stood with modest and down-
cast eyes, but with a simplicity and fresh-
ness of beauty that still bespoke her " the
Rose of the Alhambra."

As usual, she was accompanied by the
ever-vigilant Fredegonda, who gave the
whole history of her parentage and descent
to the inquiring queen. The queen was
pleased when she learnt that her father had
bravely fallen in the service of the crown.

" If your powers equal your renown," said
she, " and you can cast forth this evil spirit
that possesses the king, your fortune shall
henceforth be my care, and honours and
wealth attend you."

The queen was impatient to make trial of
her skill, and led the way at once to the
apartment of the moody monarch.

Jacinta followed with downcast eyes
through the files of guards and crowds of
185

€(1^0 from t^'t (^t^cmhxci

courtiers. They came at length to a great
chamber hung with black. The windows were
closed to exclude the light of day. A number
of yellow wax tapers in silver sconces diffused
a light which dimly revealed the figures of
the courtiers as they glided about with noise-
less step and woebegone visage. In the
midst of a funeral bier, his hands folded on
his breast and the tip of his nose just visible,
lay extended this would-be-buried monarch.

The queen entered the chamber in silence,
and pointing to a footstool in an obsure cor-
ner, beckoned to Jacinta to sit down and
commence.

At first she touched her lute with a fal-
tering hand, but gathering confidence as she
proceeded, drew forth such wonderful har-
mony that all present could scarce believe it
mortal. As to the king, who had already
considered himself in the world of spirits, he
set it down for some angelic melody or the

music of the spheres.

i86

€^t (Ro0e of t^t (^f^amfim

By degrees the theme was varied, and the
voice of Jacinta accompanied the lute. She
sang one of the legendary ballads treating of
the ancient glories of the Alhambra and the
achievements of the Moors. The funeral
chamber resounded with the strains. It en-
tered into the gloomy heart of the monarch.
He raised his head and gazed around. He
sat up on his couch. His eyes began to kin-
dle. At length, leaping upon the floor he
called for sword and buckler.

The triumph of music, or rather of the en-
chanted lute, was complete. The demon of
melancholy was cast forth, and, as it were,
a dead man brought to life. The windows of
the apartment were thrown open and the
glorious Spanish sunshine burst into the
chamber. All eyes sought the lovely en-
chantress, but the lute had fallen from her
hand, she had sunk upon the earth, and the
next moment was clasped to the heart of
Ruyz de Alarcon.

187

The wedding of the happy couple was
celebrated soon afterwards with great splen-
dour, and " The Rose of the Alhambra " be-
came the ornament and delight of the court.

"But hold — not so fast—" I hear the
reader exclaim. " This is jumping to the end
of a story at a furious rate ! First let us know
how Ruyz de Alarcon managed to account
to Jacinta for his long neglect."

Nothing more easy: the venerable, time-
honoured excuse — the opposition to his
wishes by a proud pragmatical old father.

"But how was the proud pragmatical old
father reconciled to the match ? "

O! as to that, his scruples were easily
overcome by a word or two from the queen,
especially as dignities and rewards were
showered upon the blooming favourite of
royalty. Besides, the lute of Jacinta, you
know, possessed a magic power, and could
control the most stubborn head and hardest
breast.

Be^mb of

Be^mb of
Z^t Cioo ^iecxut statute

HERE once lived in a poor part
of the Alhambra a merry little
fellow, named Lope Sanchez,
who worked in the gardens,
and was as brisk and gay as a grasshopper,
singing all day long. He was the life and soul
of the fortress. When his work was over, he
would sit on one of the stone benches, strum
his guitar, and sing songs about Spanish
heroes, or strike up a merrier tune, and set
the girls dancing boleros and fandangoes.

Like most little men. Lope had a buxom
dame for a wife, who could almost have put
him in her pocket. They had but one child,
a little black-eyed girl named Sanchica, who
was as merry as her father, and the delight
of his heart. She played about him as he
191

worked in the gardens, danced to his guitar
as he sat in the shade, and ran as wild as a
young fawn about the groves and alleys and
ruined halls.

It was now the eve of St. John, and the
men, women, and children of the Alhambra
went up at night to the mountain of the sun
to keep their midsummer vigil on its sum-
mit. It was a bright moonlight night, and all
the mountains were grey and silvery, and the
city lay in shadows below. The Vega was
like a fairy land, with haunted streams
gleaming among its dusky groves. On the
highest part of the mountain they lit a fire.
The people of the country round were keep-
ing a similar vigil, and fires here and there
in the Vega, and along the folds of the moun-
tains, blazed palely in the moonlight.

The evening was gayly passed in dancing
to the guitar of Lope Sanchez, who was
never so joyous as on a holiday of this kind.
192

While the dance was going on, Sanchica
and some of her friends were playing among
the ruins of an old Moorish fort, when she
found among the pebbles a small hand curi-
ously carved of jet. She ran to her mother
with her prize.

"Throw it away," said one of the women.
" It 's Moorish and there 's witchcraft in it."

" By no means," said another. " You may
sell it for something to the jewellers."

An old soldier drew near who was as
dark as a Moor.

"I have seen things of this kind," said he,
" among the Moors of Barbary. It is a great
virtue to guard against all kinds of spells and
enchantments. I give you joy, friend Lope:
this bodes good luck to your child."

Upon hearing this, the wife of Lope San-
chez tied the little hand to a ribbon, and
hung it round the neck of her daughter. The
dance was neglected, and they sat in groups
on the ground, telling old legends about the
193

Moors. Some of the stories were about the
very mountain on which they were seated.
One old crone gave a long account of the
palace which was inside the mountain where
Boabdil and all his court are said to remain
enchanted.

"Among yonder ruins," said she, point-
ing to some old walls, " there is a deep black
pit that goes down into the very heart of the
mountain. For all the money in Granada I
would not look into it. Once upon a time a
poor man of the Alhambra, who tended goats
up on this mountain, scrambled down into
that pit after a kid that had fallen in. He
came out again and told such things of what
he had seen, that every one thought he had
gone mad. He raved about hobgoblin Moors,
and they could hardly get him to take his
goats up there again. He did so at last, but,
poor man, he never came down. They found
his hat and mantle near the mouth of the
cavern, but he was never more heard of."
194

Sanchica listened to all this story. She felt
a great longing to peep into this dangerous
pit, so she stole away from her companions,
and after some time, found the hollow near
the brow of the mountain. In the centre of
this was the mouth of the pit. She peeped
in. All was as black as pitch. Her blood
ran cold. She drew back, then peeped in
again — then would have run away — then
took another peep. She pushed a large stone
into it. For some time it fell in silence —
then it struck with a crash, rebounding from
side to side, rumbling and tumbling with a
noise like thunder. Then it made a splash
into water, far, far below — and all was still
again.

A murmuring sound gradually rose out
of the pit like the buzz and hum of bees. It
grew louder and louder. Sanchica could hear
voices, and the sound of arms and trumpets,
as if some army were marshalling for battle
in the very inside of the mountain.
195

€akB from i^t (Ki^cm&ta

The child became frightened, and hastened
back to the place where she had left her
father and mother and their companions, but
all were gone. The fire was going out, and
its last wreath of smoke was curling up in
the moonshine. Everything seemed to be
asleep. Sanchica called, but there was no an-
swer. She ran down the side of the moun-
tain, and by the gardens of the Generalife,
until she came to the alley of trees leading
to the Alhambra. Here she seated herself on
a bench of a woody recess, to recover breath.

The bell in the watch-tower tolled mid-
night. All she could hear was the tinkling
of a stream. The sweet air was lulling her
to sleep, when her eye was caught by some-
thing glittering, and to her surprise she be-
held a long line of Moorish warriors pour-
ing down the mountain side and along the
leafy avenues. Their horses pranced proudly,
but their tramp caused no more sound than
if they had been shod with felt, and the riders
196

were all as pale as death. Among them rode
a beautiful lady, with a crowned head and
long yellow hair entwined with pearls. The
housings of her palfrey were crimson velvet
and swept the earth; but she rode all dis-
consolate, looking ever at the ground.

Then came a train of men belonging to
the court. They were arrayed in robes and
turbans of divers colours. With them rode
KingBoabdil. His royal mantle was covered
with jewels, and he wore a crown sparkling
with diamonds. Sanchica knew him by his
yellow beard, for she had often seen his por-
trait in the picture gallery of the Generalife.
She gazed in wonder as they passed among
the trees, but though she knew they were
enchanted, yet she looked on with a brave
heart, for the talisman gave her courage.

When they had passed by, she rose and
followed them to the great gate which stood
wide open. The old men who watched there
were sound asleep on the stone benches.

197

The train swept by them noiselessly, with
banners flaunting. Sanchica would have fol-
lowed them, but to her surprise she saw an
opening in the earth leading down beneath
the tower. She entered for a little way, and
found steps hewn in the rock, and a passage
here and there lit up by a silver lamp which
diffused besides light a grateful fragrance.

Going on, she came at last to a great hall
in the heart of the mountain. It was furnished
in Moorish style, and lighted by silver and
crystal lamps. Here sat an old man in Moor-
ish dress, with a long white beard, nodding
and dozing. He had a staff in his hand which
seemed ever to be slipping from his grasp.
Near him sat a lady in ancient Spanish dress,
wearing a crown. She was softly playing on
a silver lyre. Sanchica now remembered a
story she had heard about a Spanish princess
who was imprisoned in the centre of the
mountain by an old Arab whom she kept
bound up in magic sleep by the power of music.
198

The lady paused at seeing Sanchica.

"Is it the eve of the blessed St. John?"
said she.

"It is," replied Sanchica.

" Then for one night the charm is broken.
Come hither, child, and fear not. I am a
Christian like yourself. Touch my chain with
the talisman which hangs about your neck,
and for this night I shall be free."

Sanchica touched a broad golden chain
that fastened her to the earth, as the lady had
told her, and it fell to the ground. At the
sound the old man woke and began to rub his
eyes : but the lady ran her fingers over the
lyre and again he fell asleep.

"Now," said the lady, "touch his staff."

The child did so, and as it fell from his
grasp, he sank into a deep, deep sleep. The
lady laid the silver lyre beside him.

"Now follow me, my child," said she,
" and you shall behold the Alhambra as it
was in the days of its glory."
199

'taU^ from t^t ^f^amfim

Sanchica followed her and they passed up
through the entrance in the cavern.

Everywhere were Moorish soldiers with
floating banners, and here and there were
royal guards and rows of African slaves. No
one spoke a word, and Sanchica passed on
fearlessly, following the lady. The moon lit
up all the halls and courts and gardens, al-
most as if it were day. The scene was far dif-
ferent from what she was used to seeing. The
walls were no longer stained and old. In-
stead of cobwebs, they were now hung with
rich silks, and the gildings and paintings
looked bright and fresh. The halls were set
out with divans and ottomans of rare stuffs,
and all the fountains in the courts and gar-
dens were playing.

Cooks were busy in the kitchens, and ser-
vants were hurrying to and fro with silver
dishes heaped up with dainties, preparing a
banquet. The Court of Lions was thronged
with guards and courtiers, and at the upper

200

end sat Boabdil on his throne. Not a sound
was to be heard except the splashing of the
fountains.

Sanchica followed the lady about the palace
until they came to an opening beneath a great
tower. On each side of the portal sat the
figure of a nymph wrought out of alabas-
ter. Their heads were turned aside and they
seemed to be looking at the same spot within
the vault. The lady paused.

" Here," said she, " is a great secret, which
I will reveal to you in reward for your faith
and courage. These discreet statues watch
over a treasure hidden long ago by an old
Moorish king. Tell your father to search the
spot on which their eyes are fixed, and he
will find what will make him richer than any
man in Granada. Your hands alone, however,
gifted as you are with the talisman, can re-
move the treasure."

When the lady had spoken these words,
she led Sanchica to the little garden hard by.

20I

€(xkB from t^t (^t^cm&xci

The moon trembled upon the waters of the
fountain, and shed a tender light upon the
orange and citron trees. The lady picked a
branch of myrtle and wreathed it round the
head of the child.

"Let this be a memento of what I have
told you. My hour is come. I must return to
the enchanted hall. Do not follow me lest
evil befall you — farewell. Remember what
I have said and pray for my freedom."

Then the lady entered a dark passage lead-
ing beneath the tower and was no longer
seen.

The faint crowing of a cock was now
heard from the cottages in the valley, and a
pale streak of light began to appear above
the eastern mountains. A slight wind arose,
there was a sound like the rustling of dry
leaves through the courts, and door after door
shut to with a jarring sound.

Sanchica returned to the place where she
had so lately beheld a throng, but Boabdil

202

t^^ two ®x$mtt ^t(X(nt&

and his court were gone. The moon shone
into empty halls stained by time and hung
with cobwebs. Bats flitted about and frogs
croaked from the fish-pond.

Sanchica made her way to the staircase
which led up to the place where she lived.
The door as usual was open, for Lope San-
chez was too poor to need bolt or bar. She
crept quietly to bed, and putting the myrtle
wreath under her pillow, soon fell asleep.

In the morning she related all that had be-
fallen her to her father. Lope Sanchez thought
it was a mere dream and laughed at the child.
He went to his work in the garden, but had
not been there long when his little daughter
came running to him.

"Father! father!" cried she, "see the
myrtle wreath which the lady bound round
my head ! "

Lope Sanchez looked with wonder, for
the stalk was pure gold, and every leaf was
a sparkling emerald! He then went to the
203

place where the two statues stood and found
that they both seemed to be looking at the
same spot on the wall. He drew a line from
the eyes of the statues, made a mark on the
wall, and went away. He feared that the se-
cret might be found out and trembled when
any one went near the place. He wished that
he might turn their heads, forgetting that
they had looked precisely in the same direc-
tion for some hundreds of years, without
any person being the wiser.

"A plague upon them," he would say to
himself, " they '11 betray all. Did ever mortal
hear of such a way to guard a secret?"

And if he heard any one coming, he would
steal away, then return, peeping from a dis-
tance to see if all was secure.

" There they stand," he would say, " always
looking and looking, just where they should
not. They are just like all their sex: if they
have not tongues to tattle with, they '11 be
sure to do it with their eyes."
204

At last, the long day drew to a close. The
sound of footsteps was no longer heard and
it was quiet in the halls of the Alhambra.
When the night was well advanced, Lope
Sanchez went with his little daughter to the
hall of the two statues. He found the place
on the wall which he had marked and laid
it open. In the recess stood two great jars of
porcelain. He tried to draw them out, but
they could not be moved until they were
touched by the hands of Sanchica. With her
aid he drew them from the niche, and found
to his great joy, that they were filled with
Moorish gold, and jewels and precious stones.
Before daylight he had conveyed them to his
house and left the two statues with their eyes
still fixed on the wall.

Lope Sanchez had thus become a rich
man. But riches, as usual, brought a world
of cares which he had never known before.
For the first time in his life he was in fear
of robbers, so he went to work and made
205

bolts and bars for his windows and doors,
but even then he could not sleep soundly.
He was no longer merry. He no longer had
a joke for his friends. He became the most
unhappy man in the Alhambra. His old
friends, observing the change, pitied him and
began to desert him, for they thought he must
be falling into want and might look to them
for assistance. Little did they think that his
only trouble was riches.

We ought before this to have mentioned
that in all grave matters Lope's wife sought
the advice of her confessor. Fray Simon, a
sturdy, broad-shouldered friar, and he was
soon acquainted, in great secrecy, with the
story of the hidden treasure.

The friar opened his eyes and mouth in
great surprise.

" Daughter of my soul," said he, " know

that your husband has committed a double

sin — a sin against both state and church!

The treasure was found in the royal domains,

206

and so it belongs to the crown. But as it be-
longed to the Moors, who were not Christians,
it should be devoted to the church. Bring
hither the myrtle wreath."

When he saw the gold and emeralds, his
eyes twinkled with delight.

" This," said he, " I will hang in the church
and earnestly pray that Lope may keep the
remainder of his wealth in peace."

The friar put the wreath under his robe, and
with saintly step, departed. Lope's wife was
delighted to make her peace with Heaven
at so cheap a rate.

When Lope returned, and his wife told
him what had passed, he was very angry,
but there was no use of complaining. The
secret was told, and, like water spilled on the
sand, was not again to be gathered.

The next day the friar came again. He
said to Lope's wife:

" Daughter, I have earnestly prayed and
in the dead of night a saint appeared to me.
207

€ak0 fVom t^e ^t^am&xa

* Go to the house of Lope Sanchez,' said he,
^ crave in my name enough of the Moorish
gold to furnish two candlesticks for the
church, and let him keep the rest in peace. '"

When the good woman heard this she
crossed herself with awe, and going to the
place where the treasure was hid, she filled
a great leathern purse with pieces of Moor-
ish gold and gave it to the friar. He blessed
her, then slipped the purse into the sleeve of
his habit and departed.

When Lope Sanchez heard of this second
donation to the church, he well-nigh lost his
senses.

"What will become of me," cried he.
"I shall be robbed by piecemeal: I shall be
brought to beggary."

The friar kept coming from day to day for
offerings until poor Lope was driven to de-
spair, and found that unless he got out of
reach of this holy friar, he should have to
make offerings to every saint in the calendar.
208

Therefore he made up his mind to pack what
he had left, and go away in the night to an-
other part of the kingdom.

He bought a stout mule for the purpose
and sent off his family during the day, with
orders to wait for him at a distant village.
When night came he loaded his mule, and
very quietly went down the dark avenue.

Honest Lope had made his plans with the
utmost secrecy, telling them to no one but
his faithful wife. Fray Simon, however, in
some miraculous way learned of them. He
determined to have one more dash at the
treasure for the benefit of the church: and
that night when all the Alhambra was quiet,
he hid among the thickets of roses and lau-
rels that bordered the great avenue. Here
he remained counting the quarters of hours
as they were sounded on the bell of the
watch-tower and listening to the dreary
hooting of owls, and the distant barking of
dogs from the gypsy caverns.
209

At length he heard the tramp of hoofs,
and through the gloom saw a steed coming
towards him. He tucked up his skirts and
sat like a cat watching for a mouse. Then
when the steed was directly before him, he
darted forth from his leafy covert, and put-
ting one hand on the shoulder and the other
on the crupper made a vault and alighted
well-forked astride the steed.

" Ah, ha ! " said he, " we shall now see who
best understands the game."

He had hardly said the words when the
mule began to kick, and rear, and plunge,
and then set off full speed down the hill. He
bounded from rock to rock and bush to bush.
The friar's habit was torn to ribbons and
fluttered in the wind. His head received
many a hard knock from the branches of the
trees and many a scratch from the brambles.

To add to his terror, he found a pack of
seven hounds in full cry at his heels, and
then did he know that he was not mounted

2IO

on Lope's mule at all, but upon the terrible
goblin horse which was said to scour the
streets of Granada at midnight.

Away they went down the great avenues.
Never did huntsman and hound make a more
furious run or greater uproar. In vain did
the friar invoke every saint in the calendar:
every time he mentioned a name of the kind
the horse bounded as high as a house.
Through the rest of the night the unlucky
Fray Simon was carried hither and thither
and whither he would not, until every bone
in his body ached.

At last a cock crowed. At the sound
the steed wheeled short and galloped back
for his tower. The seven dogs yelled and
barked and leaped and snapped at the poor
friar. The first streak of day had just ap-
peared as they reached the tower. Here the
goblin kicked up his heels, sent the friar a
somerset through the air, and plunged into
the dark vault, followed by the dogs.

211

Was ever such a trick played upon a holy
friar ? A peasant going to his work at early
dawn found Fray Simon lying under a fig-
tree, so bruised and bedevilled that he could
neither speak nor move. He was taken with
all care to his cell, and the story went that
he had been waylaid by robbers.

It was a day or two before he could use
his limbs. Then his first care was to look
under his pillow where he had hidden the
myrtle wreath and leathern pouches of gold
which dame Sanchez had given him. What
was his dismay at finding the wreath but a
withered branch of myrtle, and the pouches
filled only with sand and gravel!

Nothing was heard of Lope Sanchez for a
long time after he left the Alhambra. He
was always remembered as a merry com-
panion, though it was feared from the care
observed in his conduct just before his de-
parture that poverty and distress had driven
him away.

212

Some years afterwards one of his old
friends, being at Malaga, was nearly run
over by a coach and six. The carriage
stopped and an old gentleman magnificently
dressed, with a wig and sword, stepped out
to assist him. What was the astonishment
of the latter to behold in this grand cavalier
his old friend, Lope Sanchez, who was cel-
ebrating the marriage of his daughter San-
chica with one of the first grandees in the
land.

The carriage contained the bridal party.
There was dame Sanchez, dressed out with
feathers, and jewels, and necklaces of pearls,
and necklaces of diamonds, and rings on
every finger, as fine as the queen of Sheba.
The little Sanchica had now grown to be a
woman, and for grace and beauty might have
been mistaken for a duchess if not a princess
outright. The bridegroom sat beside her —
rather a spindle-shanked little man, but this
only proved him to be of the true-blue
213

blood. The match had been of the mother's
making.

Riches had not spoiled the heart of hon-
est Lope. He kept his old friend with him
for several days, feasted him like a king,
took him to plays and bull-fights, and at
length sent him away with a big bag of
money for himself, and another for his old
friends of the Alhambra.

Lope always gave out that a rich brother
had died in America and left him a copper
mine, but the gossips of the Alhambra insist
that he got his wealth from discovering the
secret guarded by the two marble nymphs.
And it is said that these statues, even to the
present day, stand with their eyes on the
same spot on the wall, which leads many
people to think that there is still some trea-
sure hidden there.

34-77-9